The Night of the Shoplifters
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: Counterfeiters are at work, spreading their fake bills throughout Denver. James West and Artemus Gordon at last have a break in the case in the form of a frightened little boy accused of shoplifting.
1. Teaser

_Author's note:  
_

_Thanks go to Jade for her valuable and knowledgeable suggestions on the look of a nineteenth century apothecary's shop, as well as for helping me brainstorm over just what was in that bottle, and also to California Gal for graciously betaing this story for me. Any remaining errors are on my head._

* * *

**The Night of the Shoplifters**

**Teaser ~~~~**

He was only nine and he was scared to death. He didn't know how long he'd been here, sitting at this little table all alone in the small room, but it felt like forever since the policeman had hauled him in here and left him.

His hat was in his hands; he kept turning it, his eyes locked on the door. It was closed up as tight as a tomb, and the boy certainly felt as if he'd been thrown into Limbo. Would he ever get out of here? All he'd had to do was one simple little thing so the men would let him off the hook. But he'd messed it up and the policeman had grabbed him. They had said they would send the police after him if he failed, and that's what they'd done. They had told the police he was a thief. But he wasn't a thief. He wasn't!

If only his Pa were here… The boy whimpered, trying not to cry, but he could feel a tear slide down his cheek anyway.

The door sprang open and four men came in. The boy looked up at them nervously. The first man through the door was solemn-faced, a stranger with sandy graying hair and grim eyes. Behind him came another stranger, this one wearing the brightest blue suit the boy had ever seen on a man, his eyes the same stunning color as the suit. After him was a third stranger, this one in a tan jacket with fringes at the shoulders, a kindly smile on his face as he met the boy's eyes with friendly interest. And after him crowded in the fourth man, his face haggard, his eyes anxious.

"Pa!" The boy leapt from the chair and into his father's arms.

"Oh, Billy! Billy, I didn't know what had become of you, son! I went into the general store and they told me you hadn't even set foot inside…"

"Mr Cummings," said the sandy-haired man.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"We need Billy to tell us what happened now. If you don't mind?"

"Oh! Oh, sure." Pa sat down on the only chair and Billy stood at his side, their arms draped round each other's waist as if each was afraid to lose touch with the other.

"Thank you, Mr Cummings," said the man in blue. He smiled at the boy and said, "How do you do, Billy? My name's Mr West, and this is Mr Gordon."

The man in the fringed jacket smiled and nodded.

"And that man is Col Richmond. And we're all very glad that you're safe. Can you tell us what happened this morning?"

Billy looked up at his pa, who nodded. "Well…" the boy answered softly, "we came into town to get supplies, sir."

"We live on a ranch not far outside of Denver," Mr Cummings explained. "The old Morgan place."

Mr West and Mr Gordon exchanged a glance. "Mm," said Mr Gordon. "Yes, we've been there before. So, Billy, you got to come into town with your pa today?"

The boy nodded. "Yes sir. Pa needed to see a blacksmith too so we went there first, but that wound up taking a while so he handed me the list of supplies we needed to pick up at the general store and sent me on in there to give them the list."

"Except he didn't come back, and the clerk at the store said he was never even in there," Mr Cummings sputtered, "so what could have…!"

Mr Gordon held up a quelling hand, and the rancher subsided.

"So what happened next, Billy?" asked Mr West.

"Well, sir, I gave the list to the clerk, and he bragged on what a big boy I was and said I could help myself to a licorice whip, said it would be on the house. So I, uh, did." The child dropped his eyes, a woebegone look tugging down the corners of his mouth.

Mr West and Mr Gordon exchanged another glance, and now the man in blue hunkered down to look Billy in the face. "When you took the licorice, did something bad come of it?"

The boy nodded. "Y-yes sir. The next thing I knew, someone was saying I stole the licorice, and the clerk who told me I could have it was gone. This big man grabbed me and took me around back to another man. He yelled at me, calling me a thief and a shoplifter. But I didn't steal it! Honest, I didn't!"

Mr Cummings' arms tightened around his son. "I know my boy, gentlemen," he said. "He knows better than to steal. He don't lie neither."

"No one here is accusing him of either one, Mr Cummings," the colonel assured the rancher. "What happened next, Billy?"

"Well, the men told me they were going to turn me over to the police for stealing. And then one of them said maybe if I'd do a chore for them, they'd forget all about it and let me go instead."

"And you agreed," said Mr Gordon.

"Well, sure!" said the kid. "Wouldn't you?"

The men smiled. "What was the chore, Billy?" asked Mr West.

"They gave me a big package wrapped up in paper and told me to deliver it to a man who would be standing in the park." The boy stopped and looked up at them all. "That's all I had to do, just carry a package for them. But I messed it up! Somebody bumped into me before I got to the park, and I dropped the package, and the paper broke open, and all this money spilled out! I was trying to pick it all back up and put it back in the package when a policeman grabbed me and the package too and brought me here." Again the boy looked at them all. "So I'm trouble," he said. "I didn't deliver the package, so they made the policeman come after me for taking the candy. And I can't prove I didn't steal the candy, but I didn't." Long streaks of tears began to trickle down his cheeks. "How long am I gonna be in jail?" he asked in a tiny voice.

"No time at all, son," said the colonel kindly. "Now, Mr Cummings, what was the name of the general store you sent Billy into?"

"Finnegan's. But when I went there to look for Billy, they all denied he'd ever been there."

"Yes, we understand," said the colonel. He glanced at West and Gordon, then said, "That's all, Mr Cummings. You and Billy can go on home now. Thank you for your time."

"Honest?" squeaked Billy, hardly able to believe his good luck.

Mr West shook the boy's hand, as did Mr Gordon and Col Richmond. "You've been a big help, son," they told him.

The three watched father and son leave. "So that's how the counterfeiters have been doing it," said Richmond.

West nodded. "Frightening kids into making the deliveries for them by accusing them of being shoplifters."

"It's a pity we can't make any arrests based on young Master Cummings' testimony," said Gordon. "But a sharp lawyer would be able to turn it all into a case of 'He said, they said' in a heartbeat."

"Right," said Richmond. "And while I tend to agree with Cummings senior's assessment that his son does not lie…"

West nodded. "Try to get a jury of twelve grown men to convict based on the testimony of one little boy."

"So we're going to have to catch them in the act," said Gordon.

"Well," said West, giving his partner a pat on the arm, "that's what they pay us the good money for, huh, Artie?"

"Right, Jim. And at least now we have a starting place. That's more than we've had so far."

West nodded. "Finnegan's General Store." He put on his hat and turned to shake Richmond's hand. "Good afternoon, Colonel."

"Good afternoon, Jim, Artemus. And good luck."

"Hope we won't need it," Artie muttered to Jim as the pair of them left the Denver office of the Secret Service.

…

"Idiots! Bunglers!" snarled the boss.

"We… we're sorry, sir!" sputtered the store clerk.

"It won't happen again!" agreed the burly guard.

"It better not!" the boss growled at them. "This was going to be the final delivery before we could cut out of here, and that fumble-fingered brat you two picked to move it _drops the package!_"

Clerk and guard stammered out more apologies, only to be cut off by the boss slamming a hand down on the desk.

"He dropped the package right in front of a goldurned policeman who made off with the funny money, you morons! Now we can't leave until after I print up a new batch for Mr Briggs, and that's going to take me all night."

"Can't we…" the guard started, but trailed off when the boss glared at him.

"Can't we _what?"_

The guard kept still, but the clerk finished his thought for him. "Can't we just go ahead… you know… and leave now?"

The boss turned his ferocious glare toward the clerk. "Without delivering the package to Mr Briggs that he's already paid for? Are you insane? _Nobody _stiffs Mr Briggs." The boss looked at his two henchmen, then said, "Now we'll need to deliver the new package tomorrow morning. We can't work out of Finnegan's again, so we'll need to move on to somewhere else. Let's see…" He gave it some thought, then clicked his fingers. "Harper's, that will do. The apothecary's shop. We'll do what we always do - wait for the regular clerk to be busy with a customer, then you go in and find a kid alone."

His clerk frowned. "But Harper doesn't have a clerk," he ventured, only to earn himself another searing glare from the boss.

"Then you wait for Harper to have his back turned, moron!"

Sheepishly the clerk nodded. "Y-yes, boss."

The boss rubbed at his face. "Just this one last delivery, and we can get out of Denver and find somewhere else to set up shop for a while. But..."

That "But" didn't sound good. "Something, uh, wrong, boss?" asked the guard.

"Wrong?" He looked at his henchmen, his eyes cold and dead. "The only thing wrong is the way you two messed this up. Do that again and I'll have your hides! Now, pick a better kid this time, a smart one. Wait - a girl!"

"Ok, boss."

"And let me tell you, if she messes it up, you'll know what to do with her."

The guard reached into an inside coat pocket and produced a revolver. With a grin he spun the barrel, checking to be sure it was fully loaded before putting it away again. "Oh, yeah, boss," he said, "I'll know what to do, all right," and he chuckled, a raspy grating sound, the sort of sound that chills the marrow down deep in the bones.


	2. Act 1, Part 1

**Act One, Part One ~~~~**

"How you feeling this morning, Ma?"

Mrs Stewart groaned. "Oh, Felicity child, this rheumatism's just playing up something fierce, and I'm plumb out of medicine."

"You want me to go get you some more?" Felicity offered.

"Oh dear, I don't know about that!" her mother quavered. "A young girl going into Denver all by herself? Your father can go."

Felicity shook her head. "Pa's already out plowing and won't be back in till noon. And anyway, I'm twelve years old! I can ride in on Ol' Lizzie and fetch the medicine back for you in two shakes, Ma." She smiled at her mother.

Mrs Stewart dithered for a bit, then nodded. "Well, bless you, honey. You go straight to Harper's Apothecary then and tell him I need more of his special rheumatism medicine. Now fetch me my purse." As soon as the girl did so, Mrs Stewart took it and fished out a couple of coins. "Here you go," she said, handing over the money. "Now mind you don't go losing that!"

"Yes, Ma." Felicity kissed her mother's cheek, then skipped out to saddle Ol' Lizzie and head into Denver. Going into town all by herself! What an adventure!

…

A man in a black hat wearing a teal bolero jacket with matching stirrup pants strolled along the street past Finnegan's General Store. He had seen nothing out of the ordinary the previous afternoon and evening, and so far this morning was shaping up to be the same. As he walked along the board sidewalk, he passed a fellow in a tan checkered ditto suit with a short-brimmed hat and an impressive set of sideburns. "Oh, I say, my dear chap!" called the man with the sideburns. "Would you happen to have the time? My watch is in the shop, my good man."

"Oh, certainly." The man in teal pulled out his pocket watch and showed it to the other.

"Ah, nearly nine already. Smashing! Thanks just awfully!"

"Any time, friend."

The man with the sideburns winced. "Puns, James?" he said, his voice dropping low and losing its accent.

Jim smiled. "Anything, Artie?" he asked in return.

"Not a blessed thing. Well, except for these." Artie showed Jim a greasy white paper bag.

"What's this?"

"Fried onion rings. I bought them off a street vendor. Well, it was the only way I could engage him in conversation to ask if he'd seen anything." He shook his head. "Not only was he of no help whatsoever, but these onion rings are absolutely the worst I've ever tasted in my entire life."

Jim grinned and sampled one. "Aw, c'mon, Artie. They aren't that bad."

"Be my guest, then." Artie passed him the bag. As Jim walked on, munching on the snack, Artie waggled his fingers, a look of disgust on his face. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the grease from his hands, then glared at the handkerchief and shuddered to put it back in his pocket. Dropping back into character, he wandered off in the opposite direction, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the counterfeiters.

…

_Wendell J Harper, Apothecary _read the sign above the porch. Below it, hanging from the porch roof on either side of the door, were a pair of large beautiful shop globes filled with colorful liquids. Felicity smiled as she swung down from Ol' Lizzie's back and wrapped the sorrel's reins around the hitching rail. This was the place!

Eagerly the girl bounded up onto the porch, then realized that in her enthusiasm, she was being very unladylike. Ma would be horrified! She stopped shy of the doorway, smoothed her blouse and riding skirt, smiled demurely at a man who kindly opened the door for her, and stepped inside.

She'd been here before with Ma, of course, and knew Mr Harper by sight. She spotted the white-haired old man deep in conversation with another customer in the back, and so Felicity stood to one side to wait her turn, looking at the curious items stacked on the shelves and hanging from the ceiling as she was biding her time. At first, the soft voice calling out, "Miss. Oh, miss!" didn't even register on her. It was only when a hand tapped her on the shoulder that she realized the voice was in fact trying to talk to _her_.

She turned to see a bespectacled young man smiling at her pleasantly. "Yes, sir?"

"Didn't you wish to be waited on?" he asked.

"Oh!" Felicity glanced at Mr Harper, but he was still busy.

"I'm his clerk. I can help you," said the young man.

"Oh, Mr Harper has a clerk now? Well, all right, thank you, sir. My ma sent me to buy her some more of the special rheumatism medicine Mr Harper makes." In her excitement at being trusted to run this errand, she brought out the money and held it out to him.

He smiled toothily as he took the coins from her. "I'll get that for you right away," he said and went behind the counter. He glanced furtively at Mr Harper, then at the girl again. Rheumatism medicine... What would that look like? There was a deep blue bottle sitting out on the counter right in front of him. He took a quick look inside it, wondering what the little pills it contained might be - not that he really cared. Pasting on a smile, he returned to the girl. "Here you go, miss," he said.

Happily she took the bottle, not even thinking about the possibility that she might be due some change. "Thank you!" she smiled politely and headed for the door.

The pleasant young clerk looked across the room and gave a wink and a nod. Suddenly out of nowhere the burly guard appeared and blocked the girl's way. His hand snaked out and caught her by the wrist, squeezing so hard she nearly dropped the bottle. "You're coming with me!" he hissed at her.

"Wha… what?" Felicity looked up into a face that had not a trace of pleasantness in it. "Let go of me!" she demanded.

"Shut your mouth and come on!" the man insisted, dropping his voice. "Do you want the whole town to know you're a filthy shoplifter?"

"Shop… shop…" The girl gaped at him. "_What? _But I paid for this! Just ask…" She looked around to point out the man to whom she had given the money.

But the pleasant-faced young man had vanished. Mr Harper and his customer in the back were now looking their way though, and with a quiet word of apology, Harper excused himself and started for the front.

"C'mon!" growled the burly man. He hurried his captive toward the door, all but dragging her, trying to get her outside before the apothecary could arrive and ruin everything.

Felicity looked around, tugging backwards, trying to break the man's grip on her wrist. He was just about to propel her out the door anyway when she noticed a broom propped up by the door frame. She grabbed it with her free hand and swung it up, smacking the bristles into the face of the burly guard.

"Hey!" The man flinched and swatted at the broom. The faceful of broom straw wasn't enough to hurt him, but it was enough to break his concentration. His grip on her wrist slackened...

And it was just enough for her to take advantage of. Wrenching free of his grip, she charged blindly out the door, not looking where she was heading, only intent on getting away.

She plowed straight into someone. "Oh, I say!" came a voice. A pair of hands caught her arms. "Why, whatever's wrong, dear child?"

"No, let go of me!" Felicity cried, struggling.

"Very well, my dear," that curious voice chuckled. The hands released her. "There. Better, say what?"

She looked up now at a man in a tan ditto suit, an amazing amount of sideburns sprouting from either side of his face. "Th-thank you," she stammered.

He smiled down on her, his lively brown eyes taking in how young she was and the fact that she was alone. He glanced at the door behind her, saw the angry face on the man who was just emerging from the apothecary's shop, and instantly converted two and two into four. Softly, only for her ears, he whispered, "Down the street to your right there's a man in a teal suit. He'll help you."

"What?"

Louder, as a charmingly daft look settled over his face, the man said, "Oh but, my dear, I really have no use whatsoever for cookies, but thanks ever so! Off you go then. Good day, good day!" He touched her arm, moving her in the direction he had whispered to her, then stepped around her and right into the path of the burly man following her. Burly tried to get past him, but as he moved to the right, the silly Brit moved into his path, managing to keep himself directly between the girl and her pursuer.

Burly scowled at him. "Out of my way!" he snarled.

"Oh, yes, yes, quite!" the smiling Brit yammered. "Allow me!"

The burly man tried to pass him on the left this time, only to find that the Brit had stepped into his path once more. His eyes narrowing, Burly laid a hand on the Brit's arm, shoving him to one side so he could pass. The Brit allowed himself to be shoved, but as the other passed him, the Brit's foot just happened to jut out into Burly's path.

A moment later, Burly was measuring his length in the dust of the main street. "Have a nice trip, what?" Artie murmured to him. He turned to follow the girl, only to find that a second man was now coming out the apothecary door.

This man, a pleasant-faced young fellow wearing spectacles, gaped at the big man sprawled in the street. "Hey, what happened?" he cried as he jumped from the porch and dropped to his knees by Burly's side.

"Oh, I say, friend of yours, what?" said Artie, going right back into his British characterization. He came and leaned over the spectacled fellow's shoulder, peering down at the fallen man. "Poor chap, he seems to have taken a spill." Artie let his hand hang loosely near the side of Specs' face, so that when the young man turned to look up at him, Artie's finger casually flicked the glasses right off his nose.

"Oh dear! Now look what I've done, old chap! I say, terribly sorry, don't you know!" Artie scurried over and picked up the glasses. "Oh, and I've gotten them all smudged. Do let me attend to that." He whipped out his handkerchief and made a big show of wiping and polishing the lens. "There you go, old bean. Pray accept my apologies, what?" He handed over the glasses and made a small bow. "Cheerio then." And he walked off whistling.

Specs squinted after him, frowning, and settled his glasses back on his face to take a closer look. "What?" He snatched them off again and peered at them in disgust, then yanked out his own handkerchief to clean off the layer of grease Artie had just deposited on the lenses.


	3. Act 1, Part 2

**Act One, Part Two ~~~~**

"Psst! Artie!"

The sound drew the fake Brit's attention and he ducked into an alleyway to meet the man in teal. Nodding genially to the girl who was standing a few feet down the alley with the blue bottle still grasped tightly in her hand, Artie set about peeling the sideburns from his face. "I got a good look at two of them, Jim," he said. "And they, of course, got a good look at me as well."

Jim glanced out at the pair Artie had just dealt with. The one was still facedown on the ground, while the other was savagely cleaning his glasses. As Jim watched, a white-haired man came out of the apothecary's shop and spoke sharply to the pair. With a cringing attitude and a great deal of head-bobbing, the fellow with the spectacles jammed them into his pocket and, keeping his face turned away, hauled the burly fellow to his feet and cleared out.

"Come on, Artie," said Jim. "They're heading up the alley on the far side of that shop. If we go up this alley, we ought to be able to spot them when they emerge." He hurried off to do just as he'd said.

"Right behind you, Jim!" called Artie. He had stripped off his jacket and vest, and was turning both inside-out to expose entirely different patterns on the inside.

"What are you doing, mister?" the girl said, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

"Getting rid of Quincy Devonshire. Those two will recognize him." He redressed himself in the vest, buttoning it hastily.

"Quincy…?"

He grinned. "That was the British chap I was being just now."

"Why?" she asked.

"To catch some counterfeiters. That's who those two men were. They claimed you were shoplifting something, right?"

"Yes, this bottle."

He nodded as he shrugged on his jacket. "Well, they were planning to use the accusation of shoplifting to shame you into delivering a package of counterfeit money for them."

"What?"

"But now that we know who they are, my partner and I can track them down and follow them to their boss." He produced a pair of spectacles of his own and perched them on his nose. "Good day, Miss ah…?" He paused expectantly.

"Felicity," she said automatically. "Felicity Stewart."

He smiled. "Good day then, Miss Felicity," he said, "and thank you for your help." He touched the brim of his hat to her, then trotted off up the alley to follow the man in teal.

Felicity stood there for a moment, her jaw hanging open. Counterfeiters! But, but that was…

"That's silly!" she said aloud. Walking out of the alley, she headed back toward Ol' Lizzie who was still patiently standing there tied to the hitching rail in front of the apothecary's shop. "Somebody's playing a silly game. Grown-up men, playing make believe!" She shook her head, dismissing all that nonsense from her head.

The shoplifting business, though - that she would still need to think about. But surely it was all a simple misunderstanding! As she reached Ol' Lizzie, the girl patted the mare and murmured, "Here's what I'll do: I'll take the medicine home to Ma right away, and then later I can come back with Pa and talk to Mr Harper. Pa will get it all straightened out." She reached to untie her horse's reins from the hitching rail.

…

Artie caught up with Jim at the far end of the alley. "What'd I miss?" he asked.

Jim shook his head. "Not a thing."

"What? You mean you haven't seen them?"

"That's exactly what I mean," said Jim. "They haven't come out of that alley yet."

Artie met Jim's eyes. "Well… If they aren't here, where are they?"

"That's what I'm wondering too, Artie. Where could they have…?"

A shriek interrupted him. "That was from the main street!" Artie exclaimed. Instantly both agents took off running along the alley back the way they'd come.

…

"Yes, Mrs Finch," said Dell Harper as the garrulous matron droned on and on about her various ailments. He had already provided her with three different remedies and now as she paid him for them all, she was still talking. As he made change for her and clanged the drawer of the cash register shut, she was saying, "Oh, I do hope those disreputable characters who were outside earlier are gone!"

"I'm sure they are, ma'am," he said soothingly. "I sent them on their way."

"Oh, I'm so glad. I could hardly believe…"

Dell Harper escorted her toward the door. "Now I want you to remember, Mrs Finch," he said, interrupting her, "whenever you feel that tightness in your chest, you just take one of those little white pills and let it melt under your tongue, all right?"

"Oh yes, Mr Harper. I'll remember."

"Good." They reached the door and he was about to open it for her when there came a piercing shriek from right outside.

"Hello, what's that?" Harper looked through the window, waving his customer toward the back of the shop. To his amazement, right outside his door was a young girl struggling in the arms of a big burly man. Harper's eyes narrowed; what was going on out there? As the fellow lifted the girl off her feet and started to haul her away around the corner of the store, Dell Harper shoved his door open and hollered, "Hey, what do you think you're doing? Let her go!"

Immediately the man said loudly, "Aha! I've caught you at last, you shoplifter!"

"But I didn't…" the poor girl tried to protest.

The man's hand slammed over her mouth, cutting off her denial. "You'll answer to the police for this!" he added as he carried her away down the alley.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed a voice at Harper's elbow. He turned to see Mrs Finch scowling in disapproval. "Hmph! Youngsters these days!" she added.

Several other people who had witnessed the showy arrest of the shoplifter murmured among themselves, shaking their heads over the girl's scandalous behavior before dismissing the matter from their minds as they went back to their own business.

Harper, however, stood in the doorway of his store for a moment, frowning and dubious. There was something about what had just happened that bothered him, though he wasn't entirely sure what yet. His brows still knitted, he drifted back into his shop.

For their part, West and Gordon had watched the whole episode and were now running to the other end of their alley again. "So that's what became of Burly!" said Artie.

Jim nodded grimy. "Doubled back to go after the girl."

"Wonder where Specs went?"

"I'm hoping we'll find out," said Jim as they hurried back toward the far end of the alley.

"What a day!" Artie grumbled. "All we needed was for this counterfeiting case to turn into a kidnapping!"


	4. Act 1, Part 3

**Act One, Part Three ~~~~**

Felicity had been scared out of her mind when the burly man grabbed her and carried her away. But by the time he reached the other end of the alley and turned to his right to dash along the back street here, her fear had given way to anger. "Let go of me!" she demanded.

"Shut up!" he growled. He was hauling her along like a sack of potatoes tossed over his shoulder, loping past the back doors of the various businesses on either side of them.

The girl struggled to free herself, trying hard to get away, but the man only ignored her futile attempts and went on carrying her effortlessly. Coming up with what she thought would be a bright idea, Felicity lifted the heavy blue bottle in her hand and smacked Burly sharply on the head with it.

He only scowled and confiscated the bottle, tucking it into one of his coat pockets. "Idiot!" he snarled. "You do something like that again, and I guarantee you won't like what you'll get in return. Now settle down!" He patted the gun hidden in another of his pockets, then turned left and strode down one of the side alleys.

At that moment Jim and Artie charged into the back street behind the apothecary's shop and looked around. There was no one in sight. "Where are they?" said Artie. "You think we missed them?"

"I'll take this side, you take that," Jim replied and they started down the narrow back street, looking for any signs that Burly had brought the girl through here.

…

In the middle of the side alley was a steep wooden staircase. Burly climbed it quickly with the girl still thrown over his shoulder. At the top he pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, tossed her inside, then slammed the door shut behind them.

Felicity sprawled on the floor and lay there for a moment, the wind knocked out of her.

"Oh good, you got her!" came a voice - and it was a voice Felicity recognized.

She looked up, then scrambled to her feet. "You!" Pointing at the burly man who had hauled her in here, she glared at the bespectacled fellow who had waited on her a few minutes earlier and demanded, "Tell him the truth! Tell him I paid for the medicine!"

Specs only grinned at her, then nodded at his confederate. "Bring 'er along now. The boss is waiting for her."

Burly snickered and grabbed Felicity's wrist. "C'mon, girlie. Someone wants to see you."

"But I…!" With a sinking feeling, Felicity realized that the two men in the alley had been right. These men were villains! And she was well and truly caught. But that didn't mean she was going to just put up with it. As Burly tried to pull her along, she balked like a mule, fighting him every step of the way.

…

Mrs Finch left, twittering away to herself about the strange scene that had just occurred. Dell Harper scowled as he headed over to the counter to straighten things up; there was something about what had just happened outside that was still eating at him. "What is it?" he murmured to himself as he started putting away the various bottles and jars of this and that from which he had compounded Mrs Finch's medications.

"Headache," he muttered as he stored the powders for soothing the woman's pounding migraines. "Dry skin," he added as he gathered the lotion and all the extras he'd added to it and set them in their proper places as well. "Tightne… Hello!" He frowned. Were was the bottle of pills for the tightness in her chest? He hadn't put that away already, had he? Leaning down, Harper checked the locked area under the counter. No, there was an empty spot on the shelf there. The bottle was in fact missing.

The sight of that fellow hauling a girl away, claiming loudly that she was a shoplifter, came back into the apothecary's mind. The man had been in his shop earlier, he realized - and come to think of it, so had the girl! He thought now of that commotion up front. Yes, that was the same girl - she was the one who had swatted the man with a broom. Was that what all the hubbub outside had been about then? Had the girl stolen the bottle of medicine? But why would she have done that? And for that matter, if the man knew she'd shoplifted from Harper, why had he hauled her off somewhere else instead of bringing her back in here?

Hmm. This just didn't make sense. Who was that man? Harper could picture him clearly in his mind, but he didn't recall ever having seen him before. The girl, however… Yes, she had looked familiar. If he could only remember who she was.

Harper stepped out onto the porch and looked around, waiting for another customer to show up. And as he did, something else peculiar caught his eye. "Hello!" he said again.

There was a horse tied to the rail out front. A horse out front, but no customers inside. In fact, he realized, that horse had been there a while. And it wasn't just any horse, for now that he studied on it, he recognized the sorrel mare; she belonged to the Stewart family. And yet he'd seen neither Warren nor Emily in his shop today…

Oh.

Harper grabbed his hat and jacket and locked up the shop, then headed for the alley where he had last seen the man bearing the girl away. Felicity Stewart, that's who she was! And she would never have stolen anything from his shop, Harper was sure of it. That man was a liar and who knew what all else.

The apothecary stormed into the alleyway, determined to get to the bottom of this.


	5. Act 1, Part 4

**Act One, Part Four ~~~~**

And as Jim and Artie continued on checking the back alleys for signs of the girl and her captor, in the rooms upstairs…

This time when Burly opened a door and flung Felicity through it, she anticipated what he was about to do and managed to keep her feet under her.

"Well, what have we here?" said an oily voice. A big man - short, but big - jammed a stogie into his mouth and rose from behind the desk. Except for the chair that went with it and a table in the back, the desk was the only piece of furniture in the room.

The big man came around the desk and stood for a moment, his cold eyes taking in the girl. Turning to the guard, he repeated, "Well?"

"Shoplifter, boss. Caught her taking this." The guard produced the blue bottle from his pocket and handed it over.

"Hmm." The boss examined the bottle briefly, then set it on the desk. "Stealing, eh? You got any idea what kind of trouble you can get into for shoplifting, girl?"

Lifting her chin, Felicity said, "I didn't shoplift."

The boss chuckled. "Oh, and I'm supposed to believe your word over that of my trusted employee here, huh? Believe me, kiddo, if he says you shoplifted, you shoplifted!"

"No, I didn't!" said the girl.

The boss snorted. "Yeah, and lying on top of the rest. What a bad little girl you are! I oughta drag you off to the police right now!"

"Do it," she replied, since from what the agents in the alley had told her, she was sure he wouldn't.

The boss puffed on his stogie for a bit as he gave the girl a long look. Then he waved a hand at the guard. "Get her out of here. Let the police have her."

Burly hesitated a second, then grabbed the girl's wrist and started for the door. "All right, boss," he said.

The boss watched the girl closely. She wasn't acting right, he thought. She should be fighting to keep from being turned over to the police instead of calmly letting his henchman lead her out of here. Did she know they didn't dare take her to the police? And if she knew, _how _did she know?

Felicity held her head high as Burly tugged her from the room. They were bluffing about the police; she was confident of that. Once they were out of this building, the man who had captured her would let her go - why wouldn't her? - and then she could go back and collect Ol' Lizzie and head home to give Ma…

"Oh!" cried the girl. "Ma's medicine!" She stopped in her tracks and craned backwards into the room. "I need that bottle. It's Ma's medicine."

The boss drew the stogie from his mouth, a cruel smile spreading across his face. Aha! Being taken to the police didn't faze her, but being separated from this bottle did. Chuckling, he said, "What, the bottle you stole? You can't have that. It doesn't belong to you."

"It is so mine, mister; I bought it! And besides, it's not your bottle at all. It came from Mr Harper's apothecary shop."

"Uh-huh. And I'm his partner."

"Part…!" She stared at him for a second. "He doesn't have a partner. If he did, your name would be over the door, same as his."

"_Silent _partner," the boss corrected. He leaned against the desk and took a slow draw from his cigar. "That means he and I are partners in his business, but nobody knows about it. And _that_…" he added, picking up the blue bottle, "…means this certainly does belong to me." He watched the girl, seeing the fury rise up in her eyes.

"You're lying! Give it back!" she said.

How did she know that, the boss wondered again. Well, since it was obvious to him that the blue bottle was the one hold he had over the girl, he said, "Tell you what. Since I have something you want, I think we can come to an agreement. There's a little errand I need somebody to run, you see." He carried the bottle over to the table and set it down next to a large package wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. Laying a hand on the package, he said, "I need somebody to take this over to the museum. You know where the museum is, don't you, girl?"

Felicity nodded. She'd gone there with Pa a couple of times.

"Good. You take this around to the back door of the museum and give it to a man wearing a white rosebud boutonniere, got it?" He picked up the package and laid it in her arms.

It was large and heavy and a trifle unwieldy as well. Felicity nearly dropped it then and there.

"Careful, you little idiot!" snapped the boss.

"It weighs a ton!" the girl shot back. "What's in it, bricks?"

"Books," he replied smoothly. "Antique books. So don't drop them or you'll ruin them." He took a puff from the stogie, then added, "Deliver the package to the museum just like I said, then come back here and I'll give you the bottle back. You understand?"

Her eyes smoldering with anger, she nodded again. "Yes sir."

"Good girl," the boss smirked. "Now get out of here!"

She turned and left, expecting the burly man to at least come get the door for her. He didn't though. The boss had given a small jerk of his head and as the girl wrestled the door open for herself, Burly instead stepped to the side of the man with the stogie.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Follow her."

"What? But, but, boss! You said the reason we were sending kids out was so nobody would see any of us anywhere near Mr Briggs' people!"

"I know what I said, but this is what I'm saying now!" He took another puff. "There's something wrong about that girl. I can't put my finger on it. It's like she knew ahead of time what we're up to. I don't trust her. She's not scared of us turning her over to the police. So I want you to follow her. And if you see anything fishy going on - if she hands the package off to the wrong guy, or talks to anyone, or if you see someone else following her - you know what to do."

Burly grinned and tapped the bulge in his inside coat pocket. "Sure, boss!" He hurried from the room to trail the girl.

"Mort!" called the boss, and the bespectacled clerk rushed in. "Yes sir?"

"We need to pack. I want everything out of here within the hour. Go get the wagon."

"Right away, sir."

As Mort turned to leave, the boss reached across the table to a lumpy-looking something covered over with a sheet. He was about to snatch the cloth off when his hand knocked into the bottle. "Oh, and Mort!" He called the clerk back.

"Yes, boss?"

The boss held out the bottle. "Get rid of this."

"Yes sir." As the clerk hastened from the room, his boss reached for the cloth again and whipped it away. Underneath was a compact piece of machinery: a hand-cranked table-top model of a platen printing press. The boss had hidden it under a sheet to keep their delivery girl from seeing it. Now he set about cleaning the ink out of it and getting the press ready to be loaded into the wagon so he and his men could set out for greener pastures.

…

Jim and Artie slipped along the alley, searching for any signs of the girl or her captor. So far, they were coming up empty. Artie paused for a moment, tapping a finger against his nose. Surely the pair hadn't disappeared off the face of the earth, had they?

He took a glance down the next side alley, then called out, "Jim!"

Jim appeared at Artie's side and took a look down the alley for himself. Yes, there was the girl! Felicity was rushing down a wooden staircase from the second floor, her back to them, a large paper-bound package cradled in her arms. She hit the ground and dashed away toward the far corner of the alley.

Artie started to call the girl's name, but a soft _click _from on high alerted the two agents and they dodged back out of sight. They waited a second, then cautiously peered out again. The burly man who had carried Felicity away was coming down the stairs as well. Unaware that the man was behind her, Felicity turned the far corner and hurried off. Burly sped for the corner as well, glanced surreptitiously around it, then disappeared after her.

"What's that about?" muttered Artie. "I figured their idea was to avoid taking part in the delivery."

"I don't know," Jim replied, "but I aim to find out." Nodding at the upstairs door, he said, "You stay here, Artie, and check out that building. I'll follow them and see if I can find out who's receiving the package."

"Right, Jim." They parted, Jim heading down the alley and away after Burly and the girl, while Artie set out to walk around the building first, wanting to fix in his mind all the possible ways in and out before he would make the attempt to get inside.

No sooner had both agents left the alley than the upstairs door opened once more and Mort the clerk came out. He trotted down the steps, paused for a second and glanced at the blue bottle the boss had told him to get rid of, then shrugged and pitched it up under the staircase before heading off to fetch the wagon.

**End of Act One**


	6. Act 2, Part 1

**Act Two, Part One ~~~~**

Artie came around the front of the building and saw by the sign that the ground floor was occupied by a flower shop. He stepped up to the door to take a quick look inside.

"Good morning, sir!" called a cheerful voice. An earnest-looking young man hurried out from behind the counter and headed his way. "How may I help you today?" he asked brightly.

Great, thought Artie. He had wanted to see if there might be an interior stairway leading to the second story, but he didn't spot one amongst the colorful displays of roses and other showy blooms. What lousy timing to have poked his head in at the door while the shop was empty of customers! Plastering a nebulous expression across his face, Artie adjusted the glasses on his nose and quickly chose between needing flowers for a ladyfriend or for a funeral.

"Oh, yes, yes, thank you so much," he murmured genially in a soft bookish voice. "My name is Garson, ah, Nebbish and I should like to purchase a little nosegay for my… for my sweetheart, you see."

"How do you do, Mr Nebbish," said the clerk. "You've certainly come to the right place! Now, what sort of flowers did you have in mind?"

"Oh, ah…" said Artie, peering about as if even with glasses on he couldn't see beyond the tip of his nose. "Something… something tasteful, you know. Understated. Modest."

"I see." The young man led the way to the counter. "And for what sort of occasion will you be needing the arrangement, Mr Nebbish?"

"Oh, a dinner. A, a simple dinner."

"A centerpiece for the table, then?" He gestured toward a vase the size of a spittoon overflowing with roses, lilies, and baby's breath.

"Oh, oh! Oh my, no. Nothing that expens… I mean, that large. No, just a small arrangement, you see. A little something for her to wear, ah, for her to wear…" Artie waved vaguely at the region of his own bosom, then ducked his head as if blushing. With his head down, he took a peek toward the back of the shop. He had a much better view from here by the counter than he had had from the doorway, and could tell that in fact there was no way to get from this floor to the upper one. It was time to go. He smiled blandly at the florist as his mind churned out various plans to extricate himself from the shop gracefully.

"Ah, a corsage!" said the clerk. "I have just the thing." He turned away and picked up something, then spun back again, a large pair of shears in his hand.

The sudden sight of the sizable blades pointed right at him caused Artie to instinctively jump backwards. The florist was part of the counterfeiting gang? In his haste to get out of the range of those sharp shears, Artie bumped into a stand of roses, toppling them.

"Oh!" cried the florist. "My Parson's Pink Chinas!" He rushed toward the flowers scattered on the floor. With his eyes on the blossoms, he paid little attention to the man who had knocked them over, nor to the shears his own hand was still firmly gripping.

Artie ducked out of the way of the shears again and this time a display of chrysanthemums tumbled to the floor.

The clerk yelped and whirled, the shears coming once again far too close to Artie for comfort. He backpedaled right into a portable trellis, tipping it over into the next one.

And the next one.

And the next…

The clerk shrieked and ran for the trellises, dropping the shears in his rush to stop the domino effect before half the shop could be wiped out.

Murmuring apologies, Artie beat a hasty retreat from the florist's shop and headed on toward the only way he'd found to reach the second floor. So much for his graceful exit! he thought ruefully. He turned the corner…

…

Felicity hurried along the streets of Denver, dodging other pedestrians, heading for the museum as quickly as she could. She wanted to waste no time in getting this odious task over with so she could retrieve Ma's medicine and get home. Added to that, being roped into this by those nasty men had gotten her dander up, and her fury was lending speed to her steps. Not much farther, and she would be done with it!

In her haste, she never noticed that she had a following. About half a block behind her was the burly fellow who had dragged her away and presented her to the boss counterfeiter. Burly's eyes roamed freely, taking in every person who came within ten feet of the little delivery girl, watching - even itching - for her to make a false move. The memories of the faceful of broom straw and the clonk on the head from that bottle were still at the forefront of his mind, and he just hoped she'd give him a reason to pay her back.

Burly's eyes, however, never bothered to check anyone farther out than ten feet from the girl. And so he never noticed that he himself was being tailed. A few feet behind him on the opposite side of the street strode the man in teal, keeping watch over both the girl and the thug, watching also for whomever the girl would hand the package off to. And as Jim maintained his surveillance, he spotted a uniformed man with a domed hat step out from an alleyway and go strolling straight toward the girl.

Felicity's heart skipped a beat. A policeman! The officer was walking right toward her. She could stop him, explain what was going on, give him the package, and her part in this scheme would be over. Eagerly she quickened her steps.

Burly scowled. A policeman! What rotten luck! If that girl told the policeman what was up… well, Burly thought as his hand dove into a pocket inside his coat, her part in this scheme would be over - permanently.

Jim's face hardened. What was Burly reaching for inside his coat? Swiftly Jim dodged sideways intending to cross the street and stop the thug.

And at that very moment a wagon reined to a halt right in front of him, blocking the Secret Service agent's path.


	7. Act 2, Part 2

**Act Two, Part Two ~~~~**

Dell Harper had been stalking through the back alleyway for several minutes now, peering this way and that, wondering where that burly fellow had dragged young Felicity off to and why. He had no idea where to look for them. He wondered where the man had come from; if he knew that, it might give him some clue as to where to start his search. As it was, all he knew to do was wander along the alleyway and have a look into each of the crossing alleys.

He'd gone up and down nearly a dozen alleys fruitlessly when something caught his eye in a dark corner under a wooden staircase leading to an upper floor. "Hello!" he said to himself and hunkered down to have a look.

It was a cobalt-blue bottle, a bottle he knew very well, for it was in fact the missing bottle. Written neatly on the paper label across the front in his own spidery handwriting were the words:

_Glyceryl trinitrate_

_Place one pill under tongue for chest pains_

He took up the bottle and pulled out the stopper. Well, it didn't look like any of the contents were missing, and that was good. Harper closed the bottle, then stood back up and looked around. Obviously they had been here, but where were they now?

He heard the jingle and creak of a wagon coming up the back alleyway. Taking the bottle with him, Harper stepped out of the narrow side alley and raised a hand in greeting to the driver of the wagon. " 'Scuse me, neighbor," he said, "but have you seen anything of a blonde girl in a riding skirt, 'bout twelve years old?"

The driver, a young fellow wearing spectacles, drew up the reins and stared at the apothecary. "Oh, uh… who, me? No, mister, I ain't seen no one. I just got here." Mort smiled blankly, hoping the inquisitive fellow would be satisfied with that answer and move on.

Nope. Pointing back towards his shop, Harper went on with, "I saw this big ugly bruiser hauling the girl off along this way. You didn't see them? He had dark shaggy hair and a pork pie hat, and there was some sort of tattoo on the back of his hand - right hand."

Mort's blank smile twitched. This fellow was altogether too observant! "No, no," he told the apothecary, "I haven't seen either one of them. Like I said, I just got here."

"He was yelling that the girl had shoplifted something," Harper went on. "This, in fact," and he held up the bottle. "I found it right over there just now and…"

Mort's smile cracked entirely. Setting the brake on the wagon, he hopped down and said, "You know what? I haven't been here, but my boss works in the building right there where you found that bottle. Maybe he saw something. C'mon, let's go ask him." Taking the apothecary by the arm, Mort led him to the stairs.

The men were about halfway to the upper floor when Artie came round the corner, only to dodge back again at the sight of the pair ascending the stairs. At least they had their backs to him, he thought. He made a cautious peek around the corner, taking note that one of the men was Specs and the other was putting a cobalt-blue bottle into his coat pocket, a bottle looked just like the one Felicity had had earlier.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Mort glanced all around as he unlocked the door. Artie dodged back out of sight once more and waited till he heard the door open, then shut again. He took another look now, and seeing that the stairs were empty again, he hurried to the top of them as quietly as possible.

He tried the door; it was locked of course. Pulling out a small gadget that looked like it would be right at home inside a music box, he wound up the key and pressed the device against the keyhole of the door. With a muted ratcheting sound, the device worked its magic and shortly the door was unlocked. Artie put away the mechanical lock pick, took hold of the door knob, and gave it a quiet twist.

He glanced inside, seeing a room that was for the most part bare, although there was a stack of boxes to one side of the door. He stepped in and eased the door closed behind him. In the opposite wall was another closed door. Artie slipped over to that door and edged it open a crack to find a hallway running the length of the building. He could hear voices coming from one of the rooms down the hall, so he made his way over to it and eavesdropped.

…

Jim took the fastest way he could think of to get past the halted wagon and go after Burly. He dove at the ground, tucking and rolling under the wagon to reach the other side and coming to his feet again like poetry in motion, ready to cross the intervening space and tackle Burly to the ground.

And there was Burly on the opposite sidewalk, his hand coming out of his coat pocket again…

Empty.

Jim checked himself and dropped back to blend in among the passersby once more. Why had Burly stopped though? Jim looked up the street, his eyes picking out young Felicity. She was standing on the sidewalk, her shoulders slumped, as the policeman they had all spotted strode off across the street and entered one of the stores.

Poor Felicity! She felt like crying. She had been so close! But just as she had opened her mouth to speak to the policeman, a shopkeeper had stepped out of his store across the street and called to him. For a second the girl thought of running after the officer, of grabbing at his coattails to force him to stop and listen to her. But then the policeman reached the other side and disappeared into the store.

With a heavy sigh, the girl resettled that bulky package in her arms and moved on again, once more unwittingly leading a small parade through the streets of Denver as Burly and Mr West each fell into line again to trail after her toward the museum.

…

The boss had just finished getting the printing press ready to travel when there came a knock at his door. "Hey, boss!" came Mort's voice.

"About time you got back here!" the boss growled in reply. "Now get in here and help me with this…"

"Hey, boss!" Mort interrupted. "There's someone here to see you!"

"Someone?" Hastily the boss threw the cloth over the press to hide it from sight, then strode across the room and yanked open the door.

There stood Mort with a white-haired old man at his side. "Boss," said Mort, "this here's Mr Harper, the apothecary from the next street over."

"Yeah?" sneered the boss. "And what's he doing here?"

As the boss scowled at him, young Mort fidgeted with his spectacles and added, "Well see, he says he just saw a guy kidnap a girl, and he got a really good look at the guy. A _really _good look. He was outside just now looking for them when I drove up with the wagon, and he was wondering if either of us had seen anything."

The boss now cut his eyes toward the old man. "Ah! You must excuse me, Mr Harper. I'm very busy just now and wasn't expecting to be disturbed."

"It's quite all right, Mr ah…?"

Great, the old codger expected an introduction! A feigned smile on his face, the boss darted his eyes around the room, seeking inspiration. "Oh, I'm, ah, Mr…" He glanced at the door and found it. "…Mr _Porter_. Jeff Porter. How do you do." He stuck out a hand.

"How do you do, Mr Porter," said Harper in return, shaking the hand. The old man stepped into the room and Mort entered as well, closing the door behind them. Harper followed the boss to the desk, noting the sparseness of furnishings. "You don't look very busy," he commented. "There's hardly a stick in here."

"Busy moving," Porter amended.

"Oh? In or out?"

"Out," said the boss in a rare moment of truth. Unfortunately, just at the same moment, Mort tried to throw the nosy old coot off with a lie of "In."

Harper's eyes narrowed and he glanced back and forth between the pair. "Yeah? Which is it?"

"I'm moving out, and he's moving in," the boss covered smoothly as he sat down at the desk, taking the only chair in the room. "So tell me, Mr Harper. You witnessed a kidnapping, you say?"

"Yes, it was just a few minutes ago," the old man replied. As he went on to describe what he had seen in detail, none of the occupants of the room noticed that the door knob quietly began to turn. Softly the latch gave a click and the door itself cracked open about an inch. As Harper continued with his narrative, in the hallway a special agent was taking in every word.

"…And so this young fellow here," Harper finished, jerking a thumb in Mort's direction, "allowed as maybe you might have seen something, you being here working while all this was going on."

Porter shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, Mr Harper. I was here the whole time, it's true, but I was inside, and didn't see what was happening in the alley."

"Hmph." The old man gave a large sigh and turned toward the door. "Well, thanks for your time anyway," he said. "Sorry to have bothered you."

"Not at all, not at all," said Porter affably. "My assistant here will see you out."

But the assistant, at that moment, was busily polishing his glasses. He looked up and said, "Sorry, sir. I'll just be a moment."

Harper glanced at him, then peered more closely. "Hello!" he exclaimed.

Mort's hands stopped cold at the tone in the old man's voice. "Sir?"

"It's you! I know who you are now! All this time I was thinking you looked familiar, but now that I see you with your glasses off... Oh, it's you, all right! You were out front with that horned toad earlier today, before he made off with Felicity. Where is she? What have you done with her? Where…?"

Out in the hall, Artie heard a crack, followed by a thud that made the floor shudder. Peeking in, he saw the old man lying on the floor, a stocky barrel of a man standing over him with a blackjack in his hand. "Mort, you idiot!" the smaller man growled at Specs, "where'd you get the blame fool notion it'd be a good idea to bring Harper in here!"

"Well, boss!" Mort wheedled. "He saw too much and could have gone to the police with that description and all, and…"

"Yeah, yeah, all right," the boss responded, waving Mort to silence. He tucked the blackjack away into his pocket, then said, "What are we going to do with him?"

"I… I don't know," Mort faltered lamely.

The boss rubbed at his forehead. "That girl'll be coming back from delivering the package to Mr Briggs' man pretty soon," he said. "She's another one who's too smart for her own good." He thought a bit longer, then said, "Give me a hand here. We'll move Harper down the hall for now and deal with him later."

"Sure, boss. Let me get the door first."

Uh-oh. With Specs heading his way, Artie knew he needed to make himself scarce, and fast. There were only two ways to go, up the hall to the front room to get out of the building - but he didn't think he'd have enough time to do that - or else into one of the five rooms down the hall in the opposite direction. Quickly Artie disappeared into the next room on the left, hoping he wasn't picking the same room in which the bad guys were planning to store Mr Harper. He gently closed the door behind him, then pressed his ear to the door to listen.

He heard grunts and groans as the two men struggled to carry Harper down the hall. "Aw, he's too heavy. This room'll do," came the boss' voice. And to Artie's consternation, the knob in front of him began to turn.


	8. Act 2, Part 3

**Act Two, Part Three ~~~~**

The museum at last! Felicity smiled as she hurried toward the building. The counterfeiter's instructions rang in her memory: take the package around to the back door of the museum and give it to a man wearing a white rosebud boutonniere. It took the girl a few moments to work out which way led around to the back, but shortly she was trotting along an alley, hurrying to make her delivery.

Burly followed her. West followed him.

Felicity found a wrought-iron gate between stone pillars which let into an enclosed courtyard. She nudged the gate open. Inside…

Oh! Inside was a lovely garden with a great number of well-tended flower beds interspersed with pebbled pathways. Shade trees loomed overhead, and a marble fountain burbled away merrily in the very center of it all. Also in the courtyard stood several tables, their red and white damask coverings spread with crystal bowls of punch and silver platters of finger sandwiches. A banner over the backdoor to the museum proclaimed in bold letters:

WAR OF THE ROSES ASSOCIATION MONTHLY MEETING  
WELCOME, YORKISTS AND LANCASTRIANS!

As she stood in the gateway looking around, Felicity's heart sank. There were people meandering all through the gardens, easily dozens of men and women, and as Felicity's eyes sought out each man's lapel, she saw that every single man in sight was wearing a rosebud in his buttonhole. Roughly half of the flowers were red, but to her utter dismay, all the other boutonnieres she could see were white, white, white.

…

As the door knob turned and the door swung open, Artie stepped back against the wall on the hinge side of the door. The two men were so intent on their burden that neither one noticed the other occupant of the room, especially after Artie touched the knob lightly, giving it a slight tug that kept the door moving gently toward him until it hid him from view completely.

Mort and the boss dumped Mr Harper on the floor. "There, that's good enough," said the boss. "Go get some rope and tie 'im up."

"Yes boss." As the clerk hurried to obey, the boss stood over his captive, puffing on his stogie, waiting.

Shortly Mort was back, bringing with him not only the rope but a lamp as well. Setting down the lamp, he knelt by the unconscious man, made a slip knot in the rope, then tightened the knot around one of Harper's wrists and set about trussing him up.

"Tie 'im good and tight, Mort," said the boss. "We don't want 'im getting away before Clay comes back."

Clay, thought Artie, storing away that name. Clay was apparently the one he'd dubbed Burly.

Mort frowned. "I thought we wouldn't want 'im to get away before all of us can clear out."

"Mm. Well, we don't. But once Clay gets back with the gun, we won't need to worry anymore about this fellow going anywhere or doing anything again."

"Huh?" Mort rocked back on his heels and peered up at the boss, puzzled. "Why, what's Clay gonna do?"

The boss jerked a thumb at the bound man. "Why, he'll plug 'im, of course!"

"Plug…" The bespectacled fellow's eyes bulged behind the lenses. "You're gonna kill 'im? Why?"

"Use your brain, Mort! This guy knows what every one of us looks like! We don't want him giving our descriptions to the police."

"But… but all them kids knew what we looked like too. And you just let them go."

" 'Cause they were kids, yeah. Who's going to believe _them? _But Harper here is a respectable member of society. We can't have him ratting us out, 'cause the police'll take 'im seriously. Now, c'mon. Are you done tying 'im up or what?"

Mort applied himself to the task again. "Yes sir," he said moments later. "I'm done."

"Good. Let's go load the wagon then." The boss took a glance around. "You finished packing this room, Mort? There's a lot of stuff in here still."

"Yeah, boss, but it's just a bunch of junk we don't need."

"Ah. Fine. Well, c'mon then. I want to be ready to roll once Clay gets back from tracking the girl."

"Yes sir." Mort rose and picked up the lamp, then followed his boss out, locking the door behind them. And as they moved on up the hallway, Mort added, "What about that girl, boss? She knows what we all look like too."

Artie applied his ear to the door again to catch the boss' answer of, " 'Course she does. But remember, she's coming back here to get that bottle of hers." Artie heard a chuckle, followed by, "And when she does…"

The boss' voice cut off as a door closed up the hall. Artie could only imagine how that sentence ended. And he certainly didn't like how his imagination was filling in the blank.

…

With faltering footsteps, Felicity wandered into the courtyard, her head swiveling as she looked at first one man, then another. Which one was she supposed to give this package to? As she walked, she tried to catch the eye of any of the men with white boutonnieres, ignoring those with red ones and even the lone man with a pink rosebud. But, oh, nobody would meet her eye in return! Their gazes slipped right past her, dismissing her as if she were worthy of no attention.

Finally, with determination, the girl lifted her head and walked up to one of the men. "Excuse me, mister," she said.

The man looked her over, scowling. "Why, whoever are you?" he asked disparagingly.

She held up the package. "I'm supposed to give this to someone here, and…"

He waved a hand toward the building. "If you've come to make a delivery, by all means make it inside the museum. We're trying to enjoy the get-together." He turned away, murmuring to the woman at his side, "Really! Of all things!"

Outside the gate, Burly's eyes narrowed as a cruel smile curled his lip. The boss had told him what to do if the girl tried to talk to anyone other than the courier! Burly didn't know which man was working for Mr Briggs anymore than the girl did, but obviously that fellow wasn't him. With a nasty chuckle, Burly stuck his hand into his pocket to bring out the gun.


	9. Act 2, Part 4

**Act Two, Part Four ~~~~**

There was a small sound of scratching, and a flame leapt to life. Artie held up the match and made a brief survey of the room by its ephemeral light. The door, he already knew, had no window in it; now he saw that there were no windows in the walls either. No way to get the unconscious Mr Harper out of here but by way of the door. Or at least, no ordinary way out. Hmm…

Ouch! The match had burnt down to his fingers and Artie dropped it, plunging the room back into darkness. He sucked at his lightly singed fingertips for a second, then lit a new match, this time scrounging up a candle to which to transfer its flame.

He checked Harper; the man was still out cold, but probably none the worse for the wear. Next Artie pressed his ear to the door again, catching the sounds of Specs and the boss moving around in the building at large, no doubt conveying that stack of boxes from the entryway room out to the wagon. They would be moving the printing press as well, of course. Artie hadn't actually spotted the press, but he knew there had to be one.

Now Artie's eyes swept the room once more, taking in the scattered odds and ends in view as his fertile imagination began to crank out ideas on how to turn what was at hand into "A jolly little not-so-welcoming party for the boss and his buddies when they come back, hmm?" he murmured under his breath. "And we'll start by borrowing all that rope they tied you with, Mr Harper," he added. "After all, you didn't really want to keep it for yourself, did you?"

Artie removed the glasses he'd been wearing for his disguise, folded them, and tucked them into a pocket. Then, answering himself with, "No, I didn't think so," Artie knelt by the captive and set about undoing all those knots.

…

As Felicity looked around, feeling more and more desperate, Burly braced his arm against the stone pillar at the gate and drew a bead on the girl.

The next moment, a hand seized his arm and shoved it upwards, spoiling his aim, while a second hand grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him sideways away from the gate.

"Wha…?" said Burly. There was a blur, and suddenly the gun went flying from his hand.

Burly looked around, spotting the gun lying on the ground a few steps behind a cocky little bantam of a man dressed in a teal suit. The man smiled at Burly and said, "You're under arrest."

"What? Who are you?"

"James West, United States Secret Service." The man in teal flashed an identification wallet and as he stowed it in his pocket again, he added, "You do know what the Secret Service is, don't you? We investigate and apprehend counterfeiters. And you, friend, have just been apprehended."

With a snarl like an enraged tiger, Burly launched himself at West, certain he could crush the much smaller man with ease. To Burly's amazement, though, West smoothly sidestepped him, then caught him by collar and waistband and slung him into the wall.

That only made Burly angrier. The gun, he now saw, was a few feet from his hand, so he dove for it, snatching it up.

Fast as he was, though, West was faster. The agent tackled Burly and the gun spun from his hand once more. Growling, the big man surged up from the ground and flung out an arm, aiming a haymaker at the smaller man.

That blow never landed. West blocked it, then got in a solid jab to Burly's solar plexus that knocked the wind out of the big man. Burly crumpled to the ground, and now West slapped a pair of manacles on him. Hauling his captive to his feet, West said, "Come on," and frog-marched him up the alley in the hopes of finding a policeman into whose hands he could entrust the prisoner. After all, West still had a package of contraband to track.

…

Out of the corner of her eye, Felicity caught sight of a movement at the gate, but by the time she turned to get a good look, there was nothing to see. Puzzled, she took a step in that direction.

A hand closed on her shoulder. She whirled to stare up into the face of the only man here wearing a pink rosebud in his lapel. He smiled cordially at her and said, "I believe you have something for me, miss."

"Wha… what?"

He leaned closer and breathed into her ear, "In the land of so many white and red boutonnieres, the pink rosebud is king." And when she still blinked at him, not comprehending, he added, "We had no idea when we set up this rendezvous that the back courtyard of the museum would be filled with men wearing the white rose of York. As soon as I arrived and saw the problem, I removed this one," and he showed her a somewhat crushed white rosebud from his pocket, "and cut myself a pink one instead from that bush there." He nodded his head at a nearby bush filled with blushing blossoms. "And now," he said, releasing her shoulder and holding out both his hands, "the package?"

Still Felicity stared at him. How was she supposed to know if he was the right man to give the package to? And yet, on the other hand it occurred to her suddenly that it really didn't matter. What if she did pass the package to the wrong person? By the time that nasty man with the evil cigar could find out she'd botched the delivery, she would have retrieved Ma's medicine and vanished. He wouldn't know where to look for her! And so she smiled up at the man with the pink boutonniere and said, "Here you go, mister. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, miss," he responded and turned toward the museum, disappearing through the back door into the cool shade of the interior.

Felicity hurried back out the gate of the courtyard and up the alley, feeling light as a feather. As she reached the street again, she spotted a flash of teal and saw, to her surprise, the man she'd met earlier, the friend of the fellow who had taken off his sideburns. Next to the man in teal there was a policeman - oh, _now _one was available! - and between those two men stood a third figure, his hands held awkwardly behind his back, another man she recognized.

Felicity drew in her breath with a sharp hiss. Him! The man who'd kidnapped her! What was he doing here? But as she looked on, she realized the reason the kidnapper's hands were at such a strange angle behind him was because they were shackled together in a pair of handcuffs. A brilliant smile broke out on her face.

Just at that moment, Jim West caught sight of a familiar young figure. The girl had emerged from the alley alongside the museum and was watching as he spoke with the policeman. West gave the girl a brief nod and touched the brim of his hat to her, and she smiled and nodded in return before trotting off down the street back the way she had come.

Her arms were empty now. She must have delivered the package. Turning back to the uniformed policeman, Jim said, "I need you to take this prisoner to Col Richmond at the Denver office of the Secret Service and remand him into the colonel's custody. This fellow is part of a counterfeiting ring."

"I…" said the policeman, looking a bit stunned.

"Good man," said West and darted off toward the museum. No one but the girl had left the alley, and while whomever she'd given the package to might well have come out the back gate and gone off in the opposite direction, West was gambling that the courier hoped to throw off pursuit by passing through the building and exiting by the front door. If so, West had every intention of being right there, ready and waiting for him.

The first member of the counterfeiting ring was under arrest. Now for the rest.

**End of Act Two**


	10. Act 3, Part 1

**Act Three, Part One ~~~~**

Artie was less than happy. "What, was Specs an able-bodied seaman before he came to Denver?" he muttered to himself. "It's taking forever to get these knots out!"

But he didn't want to cut the rope to free Mr Harper. In order to carry out the little surprise he was planning for the counterfeiters' return, Artie would need the rope to be at its full length. The tip of his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth, Artie redoubled his efforts to untie the knots.

…

Jim dodged back behind a corner of the building as the museum door opened and a distinguished man with a pink boutonniere came out. Good, thought Jim, his gamble had paid off. The man was carrying a large, familiar package wrapped in brown paper.

The courier glanced around at he left the building, but if he took note of the man in teal peering out from beyond the corner, he gave no sign of it. Quickly he strode away, the package tucked under his arm.

Swiftly West followed.

…

Artie paused to flex his fingers, then slung his hands as well to work the kinks out of his muscles. Ugh, but those knots were tight! He had the ones around Harper's feet undone, but the old man's wrists were still firmly bound together. Artie pulled out his handkerchief to dry his hands before he remembered how greasy it was. Instead, he tucked the cloth back into his pocket unused and wiped his palms off on his pants before bending over the knots again.

As he set to work once more, Artie heard a low groan. "Mr Harper," he said quietly, "you're going to be all right. Just please keep your voice down."

"My… my hands…" the old man murmured.

"Yes sir, I'm working on that."

Harper craned to look at him. "Who are you?"

"Artemus Gordon. I'm a federal agent. I'm here to arrest the counterfeiters."

"Counterfeiters?"

"The men you were confronting: Mort, and the so-called Jeff Porter."

"Hello!" said Harper. "So that's what they're up to! But what happened? My head feels like I need to take some of those headache powders I compound for Mrs Finch. And how does Felicity Stewart fit into all this?"

As succinctly as possible, Artie brought the apothecary up to date.

…

Jim trailed the courier to the park. The man with the package sauntered along for a while, nodding to those whose paths he crossed, giving every impression of a man completely at ease. After a time of leisurely meandering, he took a seat on a park bench. Jim, ensconced behind a nearby hedge, watched as the courier set the package down in the middle of the bench, one hand resting on it for a moment. The man then reached up and pulled the pink boutonniere from his lapel and let it fall to the ground. From his pocket he now produced a white rosebud, not exactly in pristine shape, and threaded that into his buttonhole. Satisfied, he folded both hands across his waist and leaned back, enjoying the day.

Minutes passed. Another man appeared and sat down at the far end of the bench. The two sat there for several minutes, exchanging no words, seemingly unaware of each other's existence.

Eventually the second man casually picked up the package and left.

Jim nodded. That was exactly what he was expecting would happen.

Jim followed the package.

…

"All right, Mr Harper, I believe I'm on the final knot now," Artie said at last. "Now, once I get you out of here, I'd like you to go fetch the police."

"All right. I'll do that, Mr… Gordon, did you say?"

"Yes sir, and thank you, Mr Harper. I'm almost…"

The sound of voices in the hall caused both men to freeze. The subsequent sound of a key being inserted into the lock sent Artie springing into action. Murmuring, "Play dead!" to the apothecary, Artie swiftly wound the rope around the man's wrists and ankles once more, tucking the loose end of the rope up under the man to hide it from sight. Artie then snuffed the candle and hurried to hide himself on the hinge side of the door again. He hadn't set up his trap yet, but he did have a few handy items in his pockets that he could use if need be.

The door sprang open, nearly hitting him. The voices crescendoed, with the younger, shriller one crying out, "What do you think you're…?" and the deeper, rougher one snarling, "I'll deal with you later!"

Someone was flung into the room. The door was instantly slammed shut again and locked. That someone fell to the floor, then leapt up and lunged at the door, shaking the knob fruitlessly, hammering and hollering, "Let me out of here! Let me out!"

"Here," came a voice, "hold this."

The newcomer nearly jumped out of her skin at that voice out of the darkness. A match flared to life, revealing the face of, "M… Mr Devonshire?"

Artie chuckled. "Not exactly, Miss Felicity, but close enough. Here." Artie applied the flame to the candle and passed it to her, then went to untangle the apothecary.

The girl looked at everything in the room by that flickering light. "What's going on here? Why did that awful man lock me in here? And… Holy cow! Is that Mr Harper? What are you doing here?"

Harper sat up and rubbed at his abraded wrists now that Artie was at last able to remove the rope completely. "Me?" he said. "Oh, I wound up here because I was looking for you, Felicity."

"Looking… looking for me?"

"Mm-hmm. I saw that jasper hauling off some poor girl he'd accused of shoplifting, and suddenly I realized that, while horses come and horses go from the hitching rail in front of my shop, one sorrel mare had abode there for quite some time, and I knew who the mare belonged to."

Artie helped the old man to his feet. "All right, I want the two of you to stand to the side of the door there so that when the bad guys come back, they won't see you. Also, if you don't mind, Mr Harper, I'd like to swap clothes with you."

Harper stared at him. "Swap clothes!"

"Oh, only the jacket and the hat. When the boss sends Clay through that door, I want them to see me on the floor and think I'm you."

"Why would you want that?" the old man asked at the same moment as the girl asked, "Who's Clay?"

"Clay," said Artie, busily coiling up the rope that had kept Mr Harper captive, "is the man who kidnapped you, Miss Felicity."

Harper's face darkened. "Ah, yes," he said. "The man with the gun."

"Mm-hmm," Artie nodded as he took part of the coil in one hand and part in the other. Glancing up at the ceiling, he gauged the distance, then threw half the rope at the rafters. The rope glanced off and fell at his feet. Tsking at himself, he coiled the rope again for a second try.

"Oh, that burly man?" said the girl. "He's not coming back."

Artie paused, about ready to throw the rope again. "Oh? What makes you say that?"

Swiftly she told the men of what she'd seen after delivering the package.

"Oh, really!" said Artie. "Jim already caught him, huh? Well, that's good to know." He tossed the rope again, this time managing to get one end up and over the rafter. He grabbed both dangling lengths and worked them along the rafter, getting them as close to the door as possible.

"What are you doing?" asked Harper.

"Well, I'm still going to set up my trap. Here, hold this." He passed one end of the rope to the old man. "Oh, and your jacket and hat, please?"


	11. Act 3, Part 2

**Act Three, Part Two ~~~~**

"All right," said the boss, "that's everything but the press itself. Come over here and give me a hand with it."

"Yes sir," said Mort. First he opened the door, then he scurried over to the table to help lift.

Grunting, the pair shuffled toward the door. They only made it as far as the desk before the boss demanded, "Put it down! Put it down again!"

They set it on the desk and stood panting for a bit, slinging their hands and stretching their backs. Shooting an angry glare at the door, the boss growled, "Where on earth is that idiot Clay, anyhow?"

_Clang! _

The two men whirled toward the sound and found themselves staring in the direction of the room in which they had stowed their captives.

"What was tha…?"

Before the boss could complete his question, he was interrupted by a heady mixture of _clatter bing whiz whirr rumble ccrrraaaaasssssh!_

"What the…!" Both men went charging from the room and down the hall. The boss grabbed the knob and rattled it - locked. He beat a rapid tattoo on the door, calling out, "What's going on in there?"

No reply.

"The key, Mort!" ordered the boss. "Open this door!"

Mort nodded and reached into his pocket, then turned pale and began patting all his pockets. "I… I don't have… Oh, here it is!" It took him two jabs to hit the keyhole, but then he cranked the key around and got the door open.

The boss shoved in ahead of him. "A light, Mort!" he snapped. "Go get a lamp!"

"Yes sir!" As Mort pivoted and raced to obey, the boss peered into the room. It was pitch-black inside, but he was pretty sure he could see a figure lying in the middle of the floor. That was Harper, no doubt, though where the girl might be, he had no idea.

"Here's the light!" cried Mort, hurrying back.

"I know you've brought the light, idiot! I can see it!" snarled the boss. He snatched the lamp from Mort's hand and took a good look inside the room.

Yes, there was the figure of a man on the floor, his hands and feet drawn up behind him, his hat drooping over his face. Spilled all across the floor were boxes and crates of the junk Mort had left behind from his packing.

Frowning, the boss stepped further into the room, Mort crowding in behind him. "What's going on here? Where's the girl?"

A sepulchral laugh echoed through the room. "Girl? I took care of the girl - and I'll take care of you as well!"

Mort clutched at the boss as the figure from the floor unfolded itself and arose, the hat still tipped low across its face throwing its features into deep shadow. "B-b-boss!" squeaked Mort.

"Oh, don't be so yellow," sneered the boss. "And let go of my arm!" He turned to glare at the cowering Mort.

And at that moment, a pair of hands neither of them had noticed hauled down on the rope, which they also hadn't noticed. The snare at the other end of the rope accordingly rose up.

And caught both men around the ankles.

And tightened.

And as the pair of hands continued to haul on the rope, the boss and Mort found themselves flipped head for heels and hoisted up into the rafters. Startled, the boss lost his cigar, and Mort his spectacles.

The boss also dropped the lamp.

With a cry, the spooky figure dove for the falling oil lamp, catching it safely before it could dash on the floor to shatter and splatter fuel and flame everywhere. "Whew!" he said, pushing back the hat. "Dodged that one! Miss Felicity, if you would take this, please?" Artie handed the lamp to the girl, then grabbed hold of the rope and helped Harper tie it off, anchoring the two bad guys to dangle wrong way up in midair.

Glowering, the boss growled out, "And just who are you?" even as Mort yelped, "You! You're that British skunk who greased up my glasses earlier!"

Artie smiled modestly. "It's nice seeing you again too," he returned. To Harper and the girl he added, "Shall we go?" and politely bowed the pair out of the room. He followed his companions through the door, then turned back to give the two in suspense a jaunty salute. "Good day, gentlemen."

"I'll get you!" sputtered the boss. "As soon as I'm out of this…" He snatched at the rope, missed, and wound up spinning. "You haven't seen the last of me!"

"I'm sure I haven't," said Artie, "since I'll be testifying against you at your trial. As for you getting out of that rope, I believe that will just have to wait until after your nap." He tugged a small glass orb out of his waistband, gave it a little toss, then quickly shut the door, enclosing a rapidly expanding cloud of saffron fumes in the room with the captives.

"That should keep them until Col Richmond and his men can come to collect them," he told himself. He locked the door, dropped off the key on a hook a little way down the hall, then hurried to catch up with Harper and the girl.

…

This new courier didn't seem to be in much of a hurry. He wandered the park at an easy pace, stopping to chat with a large group of people flying kites. At length he roamed on, the package jammed negligently under his arm. If the man took note of Jim West tailing him, he gave no sign of any such awareness.

Casually the man shifted the package until his body shielded the bundle from his pursuer's view. Jim's eyes narrowed as he took note of his quarry's action. The man moved on.

He tarried for a while by a duck pond, watching some children toss crumbs of bread to the happily quacking fowl. Next the courier paused to lean over a large baby carriage. Jim watched the pantomime of conversation between the man and the young woman who had stopped the carriage to let the man admire the baby. With a smile and a nod, the man moved on as the woman set off again, continuing on with her outing.

Jim was still on the trail. The courier bent to breathe in the aroma of a rose bush. Passing on from that, he stepped backwards suddenly out of the path of a tandem bicycle, tipping his hat to the pair of young ladies pedaling it.

And now the courier turned to face Jim West and tipped his hat to him as well.

The package. The man was no longer carrying it. Jim looked back the way the courier had come. What could he have done with it? Where…?

Of course! "The baby carriage!"

Jim took off running, abandoning the path to cut straight across the verdant lawn, his eyes fixed on the cloaked and hooded figure of the young woman pushing the carriage. Behind him watching him speed away stood the courier. The man pushed back his hat and smiled, then began to chuckle, and finally to laugh, full-hearted and exultant.

"You'd better hurry, Mr West," he chortled. "You don't want to lose her!"


	12. Act 3, Part 3

**Act Three, Part Three ~~~~**

"Now listen," said Artie as the three of them reached the bottom of the stairs, "once you get to the police station, ask them to send someone to fetch Col Richmond of the Secret Service. He's here in Denver supervising this counterfeiting case. Tell him Artemus Gordon sent you and, ah, tell him also to let that room air out a bit before any of his men go in."

"I certainly will," said the apothecary. "But where will you be?"

With a nod toward Felicity, Artie replied, "I have a package to catch up with. Which reminds me: you wouldn't happen to know a Mr Briggs, would you, Mr Harper?"

"Briggs? Hmm… Well, I've heard of a Mr Harrison Briggs. Hasn't been in town very long, I think. I believe he owns a warehouse down by the railroad yards."

Artie blinked. _Harrison _Briggs? Now why, he wondered, did that name sound so very familiar to him? "Down by the railroad yards, you say? Well, I believe I might just know how to get there. Would you please let Col Richmond know I'll be heading that way?"

Harper nodded. "I can do that."

"Thank you. Good day then, Mr Harper, Miss Felicity." Artie shook hands with the one, touched the brim of his hat to the other, then set off hurrying toward the railroad yards.

Mr Harper crooked his arm and offered it to Felicity. "Let's go see the police then."

She shook her head. "Oh, but Mr Harper, I need to get _home! _Ma's going to be awfully upset wondering what's become of me. And oh! Her medicine!" The girl spun and ran for the stairs again, clattering up them.

"Where are you going?"

She stopped and leaned over the banister to answer. "That bad man took the bottle of Ma's rheumatism medicine from me!"

"Bottle of… Hello! You mean the bottle that Clay fellow claimed you shoplifted?"

"Yes!" She had reached the door now and darted inside.

"You come back out here, Felicity!" Harper called. "That bottle isn't in there!"

There was a moment of silence, then the girl emerged again. "It isn't?"

"No, I've got it right…" The apothecary patted at his jacket pocket, frowned, then winced. "Consarn it, that's right! Mr Gordon and I swapped jackets and forgot to swap back. _He's_ got the bottle now!"

Felicity gaped for a second, then pounded back down the stairs. "Then let's go get it! He can't be too far…"

Harper caught her arm as she started to race by him. "But that's just it, Felicity. It's not your ma's rheumatism medicine anyway."

"It… it isn't?"

"No. You think those counterfeiters knew beans about medicine? They just grabbed something I'd taken out from lock and key and foisted it off on you."

She stared at him. "Lock and key? But… what's in the bottle?"

He sighed. "Nothing for you to concern yourself about, Felicity. It's in stable form, so there's no danger. C'mon now. We'll go fetch the police like Mr Gordon said, and get the rest of it straightened out later on."

Slowly the girl nodded and allowed herself to be escorted to the police station.

…

The woman pushing the baby carriage led Jim out of the park and through the town, passing at last into an area in which such a lady with such a carriage seemed distinctly out of place: the warehouse district down by the railroad yards. She trundled on imperturbably, as if without a care in the world.

Jim followed discreetly as she drew near the door of one of the warehouses. His eyes narrowed as he read the sign above the door:

STAR WAREHOUSE  
H & L Briggs, Chambersburg

The armed guard nodded politely, touching the brim of his hat, as the woman reached the door. "Afternoon, Miz Briggs," he said.

"Good afternoon, Chester," she responded, her voice, with an accent that couldn't seem to decide if it was Southern or Midwestern, carrying easily to Jim's ears. "And is Mr Briggs in, please?"

"I was advised that he'd be in shortly, yes'm," he said.

"Excellent," she responded. The guard held the door for her, giving her some assistance in wrangling the baby carriage through the doorway, then shut the door behind her and took up his post again.

Jim slipped closer, intent on finding a way inside the warehouse. There was only the one guard on the door; he could easily overpower him and…

A series of _ka-clicks! _behind him spun Jim around. Three guards were spreading out to surround him, and as he watched, two more joined them, smiling as they too cocked their weapons and aimed them at the agent. Slowly Jim raised his hands. The gunmen let it be known that he was to turn and head for the warehouse.

"Well, you were right, weren't you, Chester?" came the woman's voice. She was standing in the doorway, the little half-smirk on her face announcing that she thought Jim was the most amusing thing she'd ever seen. Cutting her eyes toward the guard momentarily, she added, "Well, you did say Mr Briggs would be along shortly, and here he is!" Now she tossed the hood back, revealing the rest of her pretty, sharp-minded face and her neatly upswept blonde hair. "Hello, Harrison," she said to Jim, looking like a cat stealing the cream.

"Linda," said Jim, placing her instantly. "Linda Medford - or is it Hamilton today?"

"Why, Harrison, you incorrigible tease! Of course it's Linda _Briggs! _Don't tell me you don't recognize your own dear little sister!"


	13. Act 3, Part 4

_Linda Medford, in case the name sounds familiar, is a canon character from The Night of the Fatal Trap._

* * *

**Act Three, Part Four ~~~~**

"_Harrison Briggs!_ Am I hearing correctly? Is that what you said?"

Dell Harper was a bit taken aback at the tone in Col Richmond's voice, not to mention its volume. "Well yes, Colonel. Mr Gordon told me to let you know that's where he'll be, at Harrison Briggs' warehouse." He paused and added warily, "Is that a problem?"

Richmond's lips set into a firm line. "No, no," he said crossly, his voice returning more or less to normal. "It's just that if any of us had known earlier that that particular name was being bandied about here in Denver, we might have cottoned to the mastermind behind this little scheme a bit sooner."

"So this Harrison Briggs is the main counterfeiter?" said Harper.

Richmond smiled mirthlessly. "Not exactly. But every time I've ever heard the name Harrison Briggs, there's been a certain woman associated with him. I've no doubt but _she's_ the one we're looking for."

"Oh. Well, if you don't need Felicity and me any longer…" Harper came to his feet.

The colonel stood as well. "Thank you very much, Mr Harper. And you as well, Miss Stewart." He saw the pair to the door, then turned and began barking out orders to his men, sending some to pick up Mort and his boss, gathering others to head down to the warehouse district.

"Well," said the apothecary, "I guess that's it for us, Felicity. Come on back to the shop and I'll get your mother's medicine ready."

…

Linda swept into Mr Briggs' upstairs office and pointed at the sofa along the wall. "Just put him there," she said, and the guards obeyed, roughly shoving Jim onto the seat. Linda perched herself on the edge of the desk and poured herself a drink from a carafe that was close to hand. "That's fine, you may go," she told the guards, waving them away. They left, taking Jim's weapons with them.

Once the door was closed, she looked at Jim over the rim of her glass, her eyes twinkling. "Welcome home, Harrison," she said.

"Linda, what's going on?"

"Care for a drink?" she offered.

"No. I'd care to know what you're up to."

"Not thirsty? Well, how about this?" She set down her glass and hopped off the desk. Crossing to a cabinet, she rummaged within it for a moment and pulled out a small platter. "Hungry?" She held the plate out to him. "Have some cookies. I remember how much you enjoyed the cookies during that picnic back in Washington."

That teasing smirk of hers was back. "Yes, I love cookies," Jim said perfectly deadpan. He rose from the sofa and accepted the plate from her. She returned to her perch on the desktop and lifted the glass to her lips, noticing that Jim, instead of taking a cookie, had replaced the plate in the cabinet. He now came over to her side, took the glass from her, and set it down by the carafe.

"Linda," he said again, "what's going on? You're obviously in on this counterfeiting scheme all the way up to your pretty neck. You're one of the couriers who conveys the phony money here to the warehouse for it to be distributed."

"One of the couriers!" She laughed. "That shows how much you know. I'm the kingpin here. The queen bee!" She smirked at him. "And you thought I'd never amount to anything."

"I never said that." His eyes boring into hers, he said, "So you've gone back to the counterfeiting racket. I'm disappointed, Linda. I thought after Casa Verde you were going to go straight."

She chuckled lightly. "Oh, Harrison…"

"It's Jim."

Again she laughed. "Yes, well… Harrison, Frank, Jim." She shrugged. "Whatever your name is this week, do you really believe it's that simple to go straight? Well, let me tell you…" She paused and shot him a glance. "Jim?"

"Jim," he confirmed.

She retrieved the glass and took a drink. "Well, consider this, Jim: when two thousand dollars is all you've got, I'm afraid straight just doesn't get you very far. I _had _to go back to the only life I'd known simply to survive!" Idly she swirled the wine in her glass, her eyes on her drink and not on him.

"So you went back to swindling. Confidence games. Counterfeiting." He shook his head. "I really thought better of you, Linda."

Suddenly her eyes snapped up to meet his. "And I thought worse of you! You had me thoroughly convinced you were a crook, you know! First Washington, and then Casa Verde, and those 'business associates' who supplied you with that lovely train. The very fact that you insisted you had use of that train legally convinced me that you were as big a crook as I am! So imagine my horror," she added, leaning across the desk to open the top drawer, "when I finally found out who you really were: James West, Secret Service agent." She pulled a file out of the drawer and dropped it on the desk, then shook her head, tsking at him. "You, a Federal man! Oh, you're a very bad boy, you know. All those times you lied to me, making me think you really _were _a bad boy!" She reached into the drawer once more, this time producing an elegant little derringer.

"But that's all behind us now," she added, "because from here on out, you _will _be that bad boy you always made me think you were. You'll either be my partner," she smiled sweetly, "or you'll be dead."

Dropping the smile, she drew back the hammer.

**End of Act Three**


	14. Act 4, Part 1

**Act Four, Part One ~~~~**

Artie found the warehouse district and, after a few discreet inquiries, he was soon casually loitering across the street from the Star Warehouse, reconnoitering. He saw one armed guard on the door and a few others in varying degrees of concealment scattered about outside the building. He sized up the place, rolling a few ideas around in his head as to how he might gain entry - whether to try for a door or window around back, for example, or to go with a more direct approach at the front door, in which case a ruse of drunkenness might be best.

And then he read the sign again and snapped his fingers.

"Chambersburg! Of course!" he told himself sotto voce. "That's where I remember the name of Harrison Briggs! Jim used that name as an alias on a case once." He cast about in his memory briefly, then added, "And curiously enough, that was a counterfeiting case as well. Jim was wooing the girl whose purported father had made the plates. Her name was, ah… yes, Linda. We met her again when we went up against the Vasquez gang."

Hmm... Looking at the sign again, he said, "H & L Briggs. If the 'H' is Harrison, is the 'L' Linda? And if that's the case, why? What's she doing, just _trying _to draw attention to herself?"

"Maybe," said a voice behind him. That single word was accompanied by the click of a hammer being cocked. Artie whirled to find himself eye to eye with the barrel of a revolver held in the rock-steady grip of a fine gentleman with a white rosebud boutonniere. The man smiled and made a courtly gesture toward the warehouse. "If you'll precede me, Mr Gordon," he said.

Ah. So he would be entering by the front door after all, thought Artie - and no drunk act required.

…

Jim eyed the derringer in Linda's hand and shook his head. "Don't you recall what I said to you the last time you pulled a gun on me?"

Her aim did not waver. "Refresh my memory."

"I told you that we both know you can point a gun at a man, but you'll never pull the trigger. Now you may have changed since we last met, Linda, but I don't believe you've changed that much."

"No?" The gun remained fixed on him, her eyes cold and sharp. And then that half-smirk of hers quirked up the corner of her mouth and she gave a little laugh. She tipped the barrel of the gun toward the ceiling, carefully uncocked the hammer, then tossed the derringer back into the desk drawer. "Oh, you know me too well," she grumbled lightly. Hopping off the desk, she crossed to the large window in one wall of the office which looked out over the ground floor below. "Care for the grand tour?"

"Linda, what are you up to?"

"Well…" She cast that half-smirk his way again, then began pointing out various items of interest among the many activities her score of employees were engaged in downstairs. At length she crossed back to the desk and leaned against it, her arms folded. "Well?" she said, "What do you think?"

Jim nodded. "Not bad," he said. "But you do realize that at least ninety percent of this business is perfectly legitimate."

She smirked. "Oh yes. But that ninety percent only brings in about five percent of the profits."

"And you couldn't live on five percent of the profits, I take it."

She was already shaking her head. "Not and live in the manner to which I've always longed to be accustomed, no."

He looked around at the workmen carrying on their jobs. "You've got an excellent place here, Linda. I'm impressed."

"Thank you," she returned, a glint coming up in her eye. "How kind of you to be impressed that a _woman _could run a business like this."

"The fact that you're a woman has nothing to do with it," said Jim. "It's the fact that so much of what you're doing is legal." He swept a hand at the window, taking in the entire warehouse. "You're doing a tremendous job with the ninety percent. Throw out the illegal tenth of the operation, and it'll be perfect."

She gave him a lingering sidelong look. Hoping she might be seriously considering his words, Jim pressed on. "You've always had a good head on your shoulders, Linda. You're smart enough to take this business and make it the most profitable warehouse in Denver - lawfully."

She gave a soft laugh. "Well… my partner might not be too happy about that."

Jim frowned. "Partner?"

"Oh yes. No matter what you may think of me as a business woman, most of the people I actually deal with expect to see a man's face before they sign a contract. And I have such a face to show them. Whenever they absolutely insist on meeting Mr Briggs in person, I just trot out Troy."

Jim tipped his head. Who was this Troy? Someone who was wanted? "And Troy is…"

"Well, I tell the customers that he's Troy Sanders, a cousin of ours. After all, the role of my dear brother Harrison is reserved for, ah…" She grinned at Jim. "Oh, you know who."

Right. "So you've cast me in the role of your brother."

"Mm-hmm." She took a sip of her drink. "Well, I did consider passing you off as my husband…" She paused to smirk at him. "…but I thought calling you my brother would be a touch more discreet." Her eyes twinkled at him.

His eyes were utterly serious. "So you expect me to play along with all this and join you in your illegal activities?"

"I prefer to call it my 'shabby operation,' " she smirked. "You remember coining that phrase, don't you? And yes, bringing you in as a partner was the idea. You see, once the two thousand dollars ran out and I needed to do something to, oh…" She smiled. "…tide me over, I thought of you."

"Why me?"

"Well, because of those business associates of yours, of course, the ones who provided you with the use of that fine train! So I started looking for you. And can you guess what I found?"

"You already told me what you found."

"That's right. I found that you were the exact opposite of what you'd always claimed to be. And it made me angry! Here I thought you were a man after my own heart, and it turns out you're the enemy!"

"Linda…"

She drew herself up tall. "But then I thought of something. You may be the enemy, but you don't have to remain the enemy. So I figured if I could come up with a way to draw you in - if I could bandy about a name you would know and cast you in the light of being my brother and partner in crime…"

"I see," said Jim. "So you've been using the name of Harrison Briggs among _your _business associates - the ten percent ones - to make it look like I'm involved."

"Mm-hmm. I was sure that eventually word would get around, especially here in Denver, considering there's a Secret Service academy here! And once word was out that Harrison Briggs was a bad apple _and _that Harrison Briggs was you…"

He snorted. "So you're using the same tactics that your confederates across town have been employing: make someone look like a criminal so he'll do what you want to keep his good name."

"Something like that."

"Something like that. But it won't work with me. I won't agree."

"Oh dear! I was afraid of that." There was a knock on the door. She crossed to open it, peeked out, then turned back to Jim. "But you see, I was also _ready _for that. If you won't do what I ask for your own sake, I'm sure you will do it for the sake of…" She pulled the door open now to reveal two men on the other side of it, one of them holding a gun on the other. "…Mr Gordon."

Artie eyed Linda, then turned to his best friend with a sickly smile and said, "Hi, Jim."


	15. Act 4, Part 2

**Act Four, Part Two ~~~~**

Linda smirked at the men at the door. "Good afternoon, Mr Gordon," she said. "Won't you come in and have a seat?"

"Thank you, Miss… Medford, was it? Or is it Mrs Briggs? At any rate, I believe I will." Artie nodded politely to her, then crossed the room to choose a chair at the far end of the window, as far away as possible from the doorway and the gunman still framed in it.

"Why, it's _Miss _Briggs, of course, Mr Gordon! I'm Harrison's sister. He never told you about me? And this is our cousin Troy Sanders," she said, gesturing at the gunman.

Jim nodded, recognizing the man as the first of the three couriers. He wondered briefly who the middle one was. And where.

"Let's see now, Jim," Linda said, settling herself comfortably on the desktop again, "what were we talking about just before your friend and our cousin arrived?"

"We were talking about your scheme to coerce me into becoming your partner in crime by making me look like I'm already involved in the counterfeiting under the alias of Harrison Briggs."

Ah, thought Artie, digesting Jim's succinct summation of Linda's plot so far.

"You were also making a threat against my partner," Jim added pointedly.

"Oh," said Linda airily, "but you see, I want you to join the business, Jim. And from what I've learned about you, you're always a great deal more concerned for your partner's safety and welfare than you are for your own." She glanced over and smiled winningly at Artie. "Now of course, you are invited to become a junior partner as well, Mr Gordon."

"Oh, how generous of you," said Artie.

At the same moment Troy's eyebrows knitted into a scowl. "What?" he said. "Linda, what are you up to?"

"Just sweetening the deal."

"Look, I agreed to you letting West in since that's what you had your heart set on from the start," Troy proclaimed. "But you never said one word about adding any junior partners. We already made my brother Paris a junior partner, and I don't see how there's room to add any more. You go on adding in more and more partners, and it'll wind up too crowded, with the profits being spread out too thin."

Linda regarded the man meditatively. "Well," she said, "you may have a point…"

"But it's a moot one," said Jim. "There will no more partners added. Artie and I decline."

"Right," said Artie.

Linda now turned a long gaze on Jim. She finished off her glass and set it down, then shrugged philosophically. "Well," she said, "can't blame a girl for trying."

"So we can go?" asked Artie quickly.

She smirked at him. "Aren't you cute?" Glancing at Jim and then at Troy, she picked up the carafe and studied it for a while. Setting it down again, she answered the question at last with, "Yes. Yes, you may go."

"Bless you," said Artie, coming to his feet. "Well, it's been nice seeing you again, Miss, ah, Briggs, but we…"

"What?" Troy's face darkened. "What do you mean, they can go? They're Federal agents, Linda! You can't just let them go!"

An edge of steel crept into her voice as she replied, "I'm the boss here, may I remind you; I can do as I please!"

"But if you let them go, they'll be back before you know it to arrest us!"

She laughed. "They'll have to find us first."

"Find us? And what's that supposed to mean?"

As the pair bickered, Jim caught Artie's eye, making a small gesture. Artie nodded nearly imperceptibly, then slipped a hand inside his jacket, reaching for a… for a…

Where was that smoke bomb? He knew he'd loaded plenty of gadgets into his jacket before heading out to work that morning. The only thing he was finding in his pockets now was a large bottle of the sort medicine comes… in…

Oh. He was still wearing Mr Harper's jacket! Artie caught Jim's eye again and shook his head to let him know there would be no smoke bomb forthcoming.

Meanwhile, the bickering continued. Linda, her head held high, fixed Troy with an unwavering glare. "What I'm saying and what I mean is that we will be going now. You, me, and Paris. None of the workers in the warehouse were involved in our illegal activities, and as for the guards - well, they can fend for themselves. The three of us will leave. I've got everything packed for our departure."

Troy's face contorted as if he smelled something foul. "You mean you planned this?"

She laughed. "Well, of course I planned this! I hoped Jim would agree, but I always knew I'd have to be ready to disappear quickly in case he didn't."

"You never said one word about that to me or Paris!" Troy growled. "All you ever said was that if he didn't come on board, he'd die. Well, he didn't join up, so now he'll…!"

Troy whipped the gun toward Jim. Linda leapt off the desk with a cry of, "Why, don't you dare!" and wound up, whether on purpose or not, between Jim and the revolver.

Instantly Jim grabbed Linda and dove with her behind the desk.

"Hey! Hey now!" exclaimed Artie, realizing that Troy had every intention of shooting Jim. He stepped forward and raised his hands placatingly, determined to draw the gunman's attention to himself and away from Jim. "We're reasonable men here. We can discuss this. C'mon, just put away the gun and let's talk this over. There's no need to start shooting."

Troy glared at Artie coldly. "Mr Gordon, if I start shooting, it won't be because I need to, but because I want to." His eyes narrowed as a cruel smile swept over his face and he turned the gun Artie's way. "And in fact, I do want to - starting with you."

Troy pulled the trigger.


	16. Act 4, Part 3

**Act Four, Part Three ~~~~**

_BLAM!_

"Artie!" Jim stared in shock as his best friend crumpled to the floor.

"No!" shrieked Linda. "What are you… I didn't want you to shoot anyone!"

"You're next," said Troy. He pivoted to aim at her hiding place.

From under the desk she reached up and yanked the drawer open, going for the derringer. A shot rang out, shattering the carafe and sending wine and shards of glass spattering everywhere. Linda yelped and grabbed her wrist as blood oozed out between her fingers. "Why you pole cat!" she growled.

"Stay down," said Jim. He seized the derringer from the drawer and fired the first of its two bullets at Troy. The gunman dove for cover behind the chair Artie had been using, then peered out to look for Jim.

But where was he now? Still behind the desk, or hiding somewhere else in the room? Troy no longer knew.

Jim, from his vantage behind the sofa along the wall, knew precisely where Troy was. Jim was also peripherally aware of Linda behind the desk where she sat wrapping her injured wrist in a lace handkerchief, and also of Artie just beyond the gunman, lying on the floor so still, so still.

His jaw muscles rigid with fury, Jim reached into a pocket and pulled out one of the gadgets Artie had made for him. He wound it up, slipped toward the end of the sofa farthest from Troy, and threw the gadget so that it went skittering behind the desk and across the floor to clatter against the cabinet.

The gadget came to life once it smacked into the cabinet, setting up an unholy racket as its key unwound. Troy whirled and started firing - one, two, three- before it registered on him that he was shooting at no one.

"Where are you, West?" snarled Troy, peering out from his cover behind the chair.

No answer.

Everyone in the room was extremely aware now that Troy had used up five bullets from his revolver. Only one left. One bullet in the derringer was all Jim had left either. He peeked from behind the sofa and fixed his eyes on the chair and on the gunman behind it. One shot, he told himself. One last bullet; he had to make it count.

A small movement from the desk caught Jim's eye. It was Linda. She peered out to look at Jim and winked at him too, that infernal half-smirk lighting her face once more. "Troy," she called out, "I see now that I never should have partnered up with you. You're just about the most pathetic example of a low-life, no-account, washed-up good-for-nothing I've met in all my days. And that's saying something, considering the vast number of contemptible scoundrels I've managed to run across."

"Why you…!" snarled Troy. He whipped the revolver toward the desk, cocking the hammer, his finger tightening on the trigger.

_BLAM!_

The revolver spun from his grasp as Troy yelped, his other hand springing up to grip his stinging fingers. "Wha…?"

Jim boiled up from behind the sofa, flinging aside the empty derringer as he charged at Troy. He slammed one fist into his enemy's midsection and the other into his jaw. Troy fought back, but Jim fought harder, pummeling the man over and over, venting his fury on the man who had shot his partner and best friend.

"And this," Jim said at last, "this one's for Artie." His fist connected with Troy's chin, sending the man reeling backwards into the window.

Into it, and through it.

Troy let out a howl as he fell. That sound cut off abruptly as he crashed into a stack of crates, demolishing them. The workmen below first ran to the wreckage, then milled about in shock once they saw there was nothing they could do for the fallen man.

Above in the ruined window stood Jim, staring down at the object of his rage. There came a rustling of skirts and then Linda was beside him. She pressed her hand over her mouth for a moment, then murmured huskily, "Oh, Jim, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. I never thought he'd actually shoot…"

Jim lifted a hand and her voice subsided. She touched his arm gently before quietly moving away.

Slowly Jim sank down to his knees, the anger draining out of him. He found it was easier to look down at the man lying on the warehouse floor below him; he couldn't quite bring himself yet to look at the man lying on the office floor a mere foot or so away. "Artie…" Jim sighed.

In response a groggy voice wheezed out, "Yeah, Jim?"

_What?_

Jim whirled to see his best friend gingerly elbowing himself up into a sitting position. Artie paused for a second to lay a hand on his chest. "Oh, that's going to make a bruise!" he muttered.

"Artie! But… but…"

Artie leaned against the wall. "But what, Jim?"

"But… I thought you were dead!"

"Me? Naw! Or at least, not yet," he added with a glance toward heaven.

"Then you weren't shot?"

"Oh, I got shot, all right," Artie replied, grimacing. "And I guess I must have conked my noggin on something when I fell, too." He touched his head and winced.

Jim came over and knelt by him, checking him over. "Bullet-proof vest, I see," he said.

Artie nodded. "Uh-huh. You know, I just had this gnawing feeling when I was getting dressed this morning that I might need it."

"Glad you listened to that feeling." Jim came to his feet, then gave Artie a hand to get him upright.

Artie looked around. "Where's Troy?"

Jim jerked a thumb toward the gaping hole in the window.

Artie gave a whistle. "Oh. And where's Linda?"

Now Jim looked around as well. "That's a good question," he said. "She was here a minute ago. And I didn't notice her leaving by the door."

They both started checking the room for some alternate exit. "You know, she was saying they would disappear and we'd have a hard time finding them again," Artie commented.

"Right. Apparently her contingency plans for us refusing to join her were more detailed than I expec…"

An agonized cry of "_Troy!_" echoed up from the floor below. The agents halted their search, exchanged a glance, then hurried to the window and peered down.

A well-dressed man had arrived in the warehouse and was now bowed in anguish over Linda's fallen partner. He looked up at the shattered office window and his face twisted in anger. "You!" he cried, pointing a finger at Jim West.

"He recognized you," said Artie as the man sprang up and ran out the warehouse door.

"And I recognize him as well. That's the middle courier who worked with Troy and Linda to bring the package of phony money here."

"Paris, you suppose?"

Jim nodded. "That would be my guess."

The man reappeared now, bringing all the armed guards from outside with him. They scattered for cover throughout the warehouse below and started firing up at the office.

The agents dove behind the desk. "Round two," Artie muttered.


	17. Act 4, Part 4

**Act Four, Part Four ~~~~**

Jim slipped over to the office door and locked it, then rejoined Artie. "That's not the strongest door I've ever seen," he said. "It won't take them long to batter it open once they decide to storm the office."

"Then we need to give them a little incentive to stay back," Artie responded as the gunfire continued. He reached into his pockets, then winced. "Oh, that's right!"

"What's the matter?"

"Aw, I swapped jackets with that apothecary earlier and forgot to get mine back again. All I've got here is this medicine of his." He pulled out the bottle and turned it to read the label for the first time. His jaw dropped. "Ah…"

"Now what?" said Jim as a bullet hit the cabinet, sending shards of cookies and china scattering.

With a shaky laugh, Artie held out the bottle for Jim to see for himself.

"Glyceryl trinitrate?" Jim frowned. "Sounds vaguely familiar."

"Yeah, well, that's because you may know it better as nitroglycerin."

Jim met his partner's eye. "You've been carrying nitro in your pocket?"

Artie gulped and nodded. "Carrying it… getting shot while carrying it… falling down while carrying it…"

"Must be a lot more stable than usual then," said Jim.

"Stable. Hmm." Artie took another look at the label. "And he's using it for heart medicine…" The tip of his tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth for a moment. Then he grinned. "Jim, you wouldn't happen to have a bit of acid on you, would you?"

Without a word, Jim removed the heel from one of his boots, tipped out a tiny vial, then reattached the heel and passed the vial to his partner. "What do you have in mind, Artie?"

"That bit of incentive we wanted to give Paris and his men. Pick your target and get ready to throw." Artie opened the bottle of medicine, took a quick glance inside, then emptied the contents of the vial into it. Smoke began curling from within and he hurriedly tamped the stopper back into place. "Here you are, James my boy!"

Jim accepted the bottle and headed for the window. He slipped close enough to get a good look at the room below, dodged back as a shot came his way, then launched the bottle out into a high arc. He didn't wait to watch it hit, but turned and dove for the floor behind the desk next to Artie again.

_FOOM!_

The explosion was impressive, to say the least. To say a bit more, it sent gunmen and bits of material flying, and brought down an entire corner of the warehouse. Debris rained everywhere, even in through the broken window of the office upstairs.

As guards and workmen gradually dragged themselves to their feet again to stare in awe at the damage, they heard the clearing of a throat above them. All turned to look and found themselves staring in further shock. For there in the window stood the man in teal, a bottle poised in his upraised right hand, a second bottle in reserve in his left.

"Now that I have your attention," said Jim, "do any of you want me to throw anything more?"

The workmen instantly surrendered, and the guards quickly followed suit, dropping their weapons and raising their hands.

"Good," said Jim. He replaced the bottles in the cabinet and started for the door.

"They made a wise choice," Artie said approvingly as he joined Jim heading down the stairs. "It would have been such a shame to have destroyed all that brandy."

"Especially since it wouldn't have blown up," said Jim.

"True, James, true."

…

By the time West and Gordon reached the bottom of the stairs, Col Richmond and his men were already swarming into the place. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," said the colonel. Smiling broadly, he walked over to shake their hands.

"Your timing is impeccable, sir," said Artie. All around them the other agents set about handcuffing everyone who had surrendered.

"Well, I got your message, Artemus," he replied, "and it led me right here." Turning to Jim, the colonel added, "So Linda Medford, otherwise known as Linda Hamilton, is the one behind this counterfeiting scheme?"

"Yes sir, but she managed to disappear at the last minute. Artie, if you'll go ahead and brief the colonel, I'll go back up to the office and see if I can find out where she went."

The colonel nodded and sent a couple of men with him, then listened as Artie gave him his report.

Once Artie's tale came to a close, Richmond shook his head and said, "Thank God for bullet-proof vests then! Glad to have you still among the living, Artemus." He nodded toward the door and added, "Why don't you go wait by the paddy wagon while the men finish up? I rather imagine you would relish the chance to take a little rest."

"Thank you, sir," said Artie. He wandered outside and leaned against a streetlamp, closing his eyes as he assessed just how badly injured he felt.

"Mr Gordon?"

Artie opened his eyes again. "Why, Mr Harper! What are you doing here?"

"I needed to give you something. But what on earth's been going on around here? Look at that building! And… Hello! You've been shot!"

"Aw, I'm fine. Don't worry about it," said Artie. "Just a little occupational hazard, that's all."

"Occupational hazard, huh? Are you talking about what made the hole in the building, or the one in your clothes?" The apothecary peered closer. "And is that a bullet-proof vest you're wearing? I've heard of them, but I've never seen… Hello!"

"Something wrong, Mr Harper?"

"No, it's only that I just now realized why you planned to be the one on the floor when we were expecting Clay to show up with that gun. If anyone were to get shot, you figured you'd be the one most likely to survive it."

"Oh, well…" Looking for a change of subject, Artie asked, "So did Felicity get back home to her parents?"

Harper gave a snort. "She didn't have to. By the time she and I got back over to my shop for me to fix up her ma's medicine, we found both her parents had arrived in their wagon and were out front looking for her. Of course then I had a bit of explaining to do, as you might imagine. But at any rate, once I was done with all that and saw them off at last, I figured I'd better come find you and swap jackets." Harper took off Artie's and held it out.

"Oh, certainly. And don't worry - your jacket, at least, doesn't have any holes in it." Artie stripped off Harper's jacket and exchanged it for his own. As he shrugged back into it, he noticed that Harper stuck a hand into one of the pockets of his jacket even before putting it on. "Is there a problem?" Artie asked.

Harper frowned. "What happened to that bottle of glyceryl trinitrate I had here?"

For answer, Artie jerked a thumb at the hole in the warehouse wall. "Although," he added, "to be a little bit more accurate about it, it wasn't so much that the wall happened to the bottle, as that the bottle happened to the wall."

Harper blinked. "_That's_ what happened?" He examined the damage anew. "But I don't understand. Why would it blow up? The glyceryl trinitrate in the bottle was stable."

Artie smiled modestly. "Oh, I, ah… destabilized it."

Harper shot him a sharp look, then surveyed the wreckage once more. "Oh," he said. "Well, at least I understand now."

"And may I ask you a question, Mr Harper?" Artie added.

Harper tore his eyes away from the hole in the wall. "All right. What is it?"

"Well, it's just that the label on the bottle said glyceryl trinitrate."

"So?"

"So why call it that? Why not call it by its more common name?"

Harper shot him an incredulous look. "What, and have everyone and his brother know what's really in the medicine?"

"That's a problem?"

"Well, of course it is, Mr Gordon! Just think about it. Do you really expect folks would be buying my chest pain remedy if I actually called it nitroglycerin?" Harper shook his head. "Instead of warding off coronaries, I'd be causing them!"

"Ah," said Artie. "Good point."

"Artemus!"

Both men looked up to see Col Richmond emerging from the building accompanied by the man in teal. "Hello again, Mr Harper," said the colonel, then introduced the apothecary to James West.

"Well, it's good to meet you, Mr West, and I'm certainly glad you seem to have captured all the bad guys, but, well... Not wanting to be rude here, gentlemen, but I've had my shop locked up about half the day now, and I need to be getting back to work."

Jim nodded. "Good day then, Mr Harper."

"Good day. Good bye."

Harper shook hands all around, then walked off. Artie, meanwhile, turned to Jim and asked hopefully, "_All _the bad guys?"

Jim shook his head. "Not quite, no. I did find her secret door at last; it was a trap door under the desk. And the men and I followed that passageway till we found a large room. Linda had obviously been there. So had three horses."

"But they were all gone now?"

Jim nodded. "She got clean away - except for this."

Jim pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Artie, who opened the note, cleared his throat, and read aloud:

_Dear Jim,_

_I am sorry beyond words for what happened. How you reacted to my proposal came as no surprise to me - though I did have a hope you might choose otherwise. How Troy reacted however - as God is my witness, Jim, I never expected he would shoot anyone! And your Mr Gordon was such a nice fellow, so sweet and charming and funny, and as I said to him just a short time ago, cute as well._

"What?" said Col Richmond. He snatched the note from Artemus, glanced over it to make sure that the glowing tribute to the not-quite late Mr Gordon had in fact been read precisely as written, then with a crook of his eyebrow handed it back. "Go on then," he said.

Artie continued:

_I have no doubt you'll find my secret exit and this note as well. I'm taking Troy's and Paris' horses with me so you can't get right on my trail. You understand, I trust._

_Perhaps someday we'll meet again under happier circumstances. Perhaps you'll even find it in your heart to forgive me. _

_On second thought, no, that's not likely at all, is it?_

_Yours,_

_Linda __Carlisle __Hamilton __Medford __Briggs __  
_

"She doesn't know Artie survived, does she?" Richmond commented.

"Apparently not," Jim replied. "I wonder how much of her anguish is real?"

"Speaking of real," said Artie, "notice how she struck through all the last names but the first one. Do you suppose she's telling us that Carlisle is her real family name?"

Jim took back the note and folded it. "Maybe - or maybe that's another ruse to throw us off."

"Could be, yeah," said Artie. "Could very well be."

Col Richmond sighed and gestured toward the paddy wagon. "Well, looks like they're ready to go, gentlemen. Do you really think, Artemus, that most of those men had nothing to do with the counterfeiting?"

"If Linda Med… er, Carlisle can be believed, sir, then yes."

The colonel pinched at the bridge of his nose. "Sounds as if I'll be having a marvelous few hours sorting out which is which then. Jim, while I'm doing that, I'd like you to take some of the men and get on Linda's trail."

"Yes, Colonel."

"As for you, Artemus..." The colonel eyed his injured agent. "I'd feel much better if you'd go see a doctor and get yourself checked out."

Artie waved that away. "I'm fine, sir. I can come back with you to help with the sorting."

"Artie…" said Jim, and when Artie turned and looked into his best friend's eyes, Jim gave a very small shake of his head.

Artie sighed. "All right, all right," he acquiesced. "I'll go see a doctor."

Jim smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "See you shortly, buddy."

"See you shortly as well, James my boy." Artie joined the colonel and his driver on the seat of the paddy wagon. The wagon set out one way and Jim West with a party of a half dozen agents rode off in the opposite direction to search for the elusive Linda Carlisle, the only member of the gang who'd gotten away.

**End of Act Four**


	18. Tag

**Tag ~~~~**

Colonel Richmond sat on one of the gold sofas in the parlor of the varnish car. Jim was on the sofa opposite the colonel while Artie finished pouring everyone a drink, put away the carafe, then took his own seat at Jim's side.

"And you found no further sign of her?"

"No, Colonel," said Jim. "I'm sorry to say that Linda managed to get clean away."

Richmond shook his head. "Then we'll have to keep on the alert for her to pop up somewhere else." He sighed. "Well, at least we got the rest of her gang. Oh! But what of the florist?"

The agents exchanged glances. "Ah…"

"Ah?"

"Well, sir," said Artie, "Jim, of course, was still off searching for Linda…"

"Yes, and the doctor had given you a clean bill of health, or close enough to one," said the colonel. "So you offered to go pick up the florist."

"Yes sir."

When a few seconds passed and Artemus only flicked the tip of his nose without saying anything more, Richmond's eyes flashed. "And?" he growled.

"Well, Colonel," Artie said, rubbing at the back of his neck, a rueful look on his face, "as it turned out, that was all just a little misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?"

Artie glanced imploringly at Jim, who only smiled in return, obviously perfectly happy to let his partner sink or swim with this one all on his own. "Well, yes sir," Artie said at last. "You see, it turned out that the poor fellow wasn't a member of the gang after all."

The colonel frowned. "Not a member? But he did threaten you with those garden shears, didn't he?"

"Ah… not exactly. You see, Colonel, I went back down to the shop…"

_He had walked into the florist's shop. Unlike earlier, the place was now hopping with customers. The clerk glanced over at Artie and called out a friendly, "I'll be with you shortly, sir!" before turning his attention back to the matronly woman he was helping at the counter._

_Artie walked up anyway. "Excuse me," he said, "but this is very important. I'm afraid you're under…"_

"_I'm sorry, sir, but Mrs Fletcher is ahead of you as you can see and… You!" The clerk's eyes nearly bulged from his head as he abruptly recognized Artie. Keeping his voice low so as not to upset the other customers, he said, "No no no no. Out. Get out right now before I call a policeman."_

"_Interesting that you should mention calling a policeman, because I…"_

_The clerk caught Artie's arm and tried to hustle him from the store - not that that worked, considering that the clerk was a skinny fellow and Artie wasn't cooperating. Once the clerk realized he wasn't going to be able to either yank or shove Artie from the shop, he turned to pleading. "C'mon, mister! It took me two hours to get the place straighten up after you left! I mean, I've heard of a bull in a china shop, but that bull ain't got nothing on a Nebbish in a flower shop!"_

_Artie took a good look at the young fellow's earnest, anxious face. Maybe he'd been wrong? "You pulled a weapon on me," he said._

"_Wea… weapon? What, the shears?" At Artie's nod, the clerk exclaimed, "I was just going to cut the flowers you wanted for the corsage! And believe me, mister, after what you did to this shop, if I'd've had a mind to use those shears on you, I would have!"_

"So he really wasn't part of the gang?" said the colonel.

"No sir, not a bit," said Artie, talking a sip of his drink.

"Hmm. I see."

Behind Artie, much to the colonel's surprise, the door to the corridor leading to the staterooms swung open to reveal a lovely svelte brunette. "Artemus, darling," she called, "I'm ready!"

The colonel and Jim both came to their feet at the sight of the woman. Artemus barely suppressed a spit take as he hastily set down his glass and sprang up from the sofa. "Lily!"

Richmond frowned, looking back and forth between his two agents. "Lily?" he asked.

"Lily Fortune," said Jim helpfully, though from the look on the colonel's face it was plain that their boss didn't consider Jim's help to be especially helpful.

Artie crossed to the woman and kissed her hand. "You look ravishing, my love," he said. And she did. She was beautifully attired in a graceful cerulean gown, with a lace-bedecked hat pinned atop her hair and an elegant stole draped over her arm.

"I'm not late, am I?" she asked. "You said seven."

"No, you're not late a bit," said Artie, consulting his pocket watch. He winced. "But I am! I need to get ready myself. Colonel, if you'll excuse me. Jim, if you'll handle the introductions." Artie patted the woman's hand, then vanished through the swinging door.

Glancing at Jim, the colonel asked sotto voce, "Who is she?"

Turning to the lady, Jim said, "Lily, this is Colonel Richmond, the head of the Secret Service and the man Artie and I answer to. Colonel, this is Lily Fortune, one of the finest actresses to grace the stage and the love of Artie's life."

Lily offered her hand to the colonel. "How good to meet you, Colonel," she said. "Except that Jim is leaving out a tiny detail." She shot Jim a twinkling glance, then said, "You see, my name isn't exactly Lily Fortune. It's Lily Fortune _Gordon_." She held up her left hand, displaying the tasteful gold band on her fourth finger. "I'm Artie's wife."

Colonel Richmond blinked, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. "Wi-wife?"

Both Jim and Lily nodded.

"Since when?"

"Six days and…" Now Jim consulted his watch. "…about seven and a half hours ago."

The colonel continued to gape at them. "Married?" he exclaimed.

Lily nodded and started to say more, but just then the door behind her opened and Artie rushed through it, still thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his best black suit jacket, his white silk vest hanging open and the matching tie dangling around his neck. "Here I am, Lily," he said. "I…"

"Gordon!" roared the colonel.

Artie all but snapped to attention. The colonel clasped his hands behind his back and glowered at Artie, his eyes flashing with anger.

"Y-yes sir?" Artie ventured.

Richmond's scowl deepened. "Am I to understand that you and this woman are _married?_"

"Ah…" Artie's eyes sought out Jim's. "Yes sir."

"Married! One of my best field agents! And I suppose you plan to have your wife travel along with you and West as you work on your assignments, hmm?"

"Well, sir, she came with us this time without any problem…"

"Living on this train, which belongs not to you but to the government."

"Oh, ah… with your permission, sir?"

"You went and got _married_, Gordon, without saying one word about it to me!"

"Well, sir," Artie stammered, "I, I didn't think you'd mind. After all, you're married yourself and…"

Richmond slammed the flat of his hand down on the nearest piece of furniture and barked, "You got married, Gordon! _And you didn't invite me to the wedding!"_

There was a brief silence, then Artie said apologetically, "I'm sorry, sir. It came up quite suddenly…"

"Very much spur of the moment, sir," put in Jim.

"And there just wasn't time to…"

Richmond gave a wave of his hand and Artie subsided. The deep scowl on the colonel's face hinted at how much trouble Artemus was in. Stabbing a finger at his master of disguise, the colonel growled out, "I will expect you in my office first thing in the morning, mister! And you as well, Mrs Gordon!"

"Li, uh, Lily as well?" Artie faltered.

"Well, of course, your wife as well!" the colonel snapped. "Don't you think she should be there also when I give the two of you a wedding present?"

"Wed, uh, wed, uh… What?"

The colonel's face suddenly broke out in a grin; he was delighted at having managed to keep Artemus off balance for so long. He grasped Artie's hand and shook it heartily. "Congratulations, Artemus! I hope you two will be very happy. Now, do I get a kiss from the bride?"

Lily managed to recover from her own shock enough to oblige.

Chuckling, Col Richmond picked up his hat from the desk and headed for the door to the rear platform. "I'll see you gentlemen - and you as well, Mrs Gordon - in the morning. Oh, and…" He shook a finger at them. "…no making off with the Wanderer for any unauthorized honeymoon trips!"

Artie and Lily each brought up a hand to cover their smiles, while Jim, carefully deadpan, said, "We wouldn't dream of it, sir."

"Very well then. Good night." The colonel let himself out.

"Well, we'll be off as well, James," said Artie, hurriedly tying his tie and buttoning his vest. "Good evening."

"You sure you feel up to this, Artie?"

"Aw, c'mon, Jim! It'll take a lot more than a mere bruise to keep me from having a night out on the town with the most beautiful woman on earth!" He smiled at Lily with a bob of his eyebrows.

"You did have more than a mere bruise, Artie," Jim reminded him. "There was also the knock on the head."

"Knock on the head!" said Lily. "Why, Artemus, you didn't say anything about…"

"I'm perfectly fine, Lily, really I am." And as he worked to convince her this was true, he shot a glowering look Jim's way.

Jim grinned and shot a wink back.

Artie jumped on it. "There, you see, Lily? Jim was just giving you a hard time. I really am fine!"

"Well…" Her eyes searched her husband's face for a moment, then his partner's. "If you say so, Jim?"

Jim smiled and nodded at the pair of them. "I say so, Lily." He gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Go on and have a good time, kids."

Artie gave a snort. "I'm sure we will… Dad."

Jim's smile widened at his partner's riposte. "I'd do an old geezer voice, Artie, but that's your bailiwick."

Artie immediately dropped into character. "Yesh, it shertainly ish, shonny, an' don' you fergit it!" He squinted belligerently at Jim for a second, then shed the character as quickly as he'd adopted it, saying to Lily, "Oh, but I have something for you, my love!"

"You do?"

Artie bowed to her and then, with a flourish, produced a small corsage as if out of thin air.

"Oh!" Lily exclaimed in delight. "Oh, how lovely! You didn't have to."

"Ah, well…" he said.

Lily gave him a puzzled look, while Jim asked, "Ah, well, what?"

Artie shrugged. "Oh, it's only that the fellow at the florist's shop offered me a nice discount on the corsage I had claimed I wanted - provided I leave his store immediately and promise to never darken its doorway again." He pinned the corsage to his wife's bodice and said, "A lily for my Lily." He helped her with her wrap, then escorted her toward the door and held it for her as she passed through. "Oh, and Jim?" he added, turning back in the doorway.

"Yes, Artie?"

With a twinkle in his eye, Artie said softly, "Don't wait up."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jim returned.

Giving his best friend a jaunty salute, Artie set out to squire his lovely Lily around Denver to indulge in a bit of its big city nightlife.

**~~~ FIN ~~~**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

"The Night of the Shoplifters" came about because of a dream I had recently. This is the note I wrote up about that dream the next morning:

_More happened before this, but I don't remember what. I was in a large grocery store. I bought a dark blue bottle full of white pills (they looked like antacid pills). Then I overheard a clerk telling a security guard that I hadn't bought it, that I was shoplifting._

_Then Jim & Artie were there. Artie was in the ditto suit and small-brimmed hat from Inferno. They helped me hide. There was a line of small tables along a wall, and we three sat at the last table. We were sort of hiding in plain sight._

_The security guy came walking down the line of tables. He gave us a fishy look but walked on. Artie was eating fried onion rings from a paper bag and gave me a couple. After I ate them and after the security guard passed by, Artie stood up. He gave a little jerk of his head, signaling me to follow him. I got up to do so._

_And that's when I woke up._

* * *

Oh, yes. One day as I was writing this story, my daughter slipped in and typed, "I love cookies" into a blank spot, giving me a challenge to fit the line into the story somewhere. Which I did.


End file.
